


Amor Litteras

by badgerempress, menofsweaters



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-20
Updated: 2013-11-20
Packaged: 2018-01-02 03:02:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 19,286
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1051748
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/badgerempress/pseuds/badgerempress, https://archiveofourown.org/users/menofsweaters/pseuds/menofsweaters
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam has been waiting for the Cherubim to match him up with his true love his entire life, but so far, he's had no luck. While Dean fully intends to stay a free-wheeling bachelor forever, Sam is desperate to find a match before his time runs out. When his brother is paired with an unlikely angel named Castiel, Sam is thrown head-first into a world of archangels, love letters, and an alarming amount of vests. However, as he gets closer to a particularly charming archangel named Gabriel, he starts to doubt the system. Hijinks include Gabriel in sock hop garb, spying on Dean and Cas, way too chipper Samandriel, creeper!Michael, and Gabriel and Lucifer fighting over Sam's pretty face (sort of).</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part One

**Author's Note:**

> This monstrosity was written for the Sabriel Minibang 2013. The wonderful art to accompany this fic can be found [here](http://http://saffron-zephyr.livejournal.com/371628.html).
> 
> Title: Amor Litteras  
> Author: menofsweaters ([tumblr](http://menofsweaters.tumblr.com) / [LJ](http://menofsweaters.livejournal.com)) and badgerempress ([tumblr](http://moose-tache.tumblr.com) / [LJ](http://moosetaches.livejournal.com))  
> Artist: saffron_zephyr ([LJ](http://saffron_zephyr.livejournal.com))  
> Pairing: Sam/Gabriel, Dean/Castiel, unrequited Sam/Lucifer, Lucifer/Michael if you squint  
> Rating: PG-13 for language and some sexual references  
> Warnings: None, unless any of the above pairings squick you out. It’s pretty tame.  
> Link on LJ: [Part One](http://menofsweaters.livejournal.com/1232.html) / [Part Two](http://menofsweaters.livejournal.com/1401.html) (includes pictures!)

Sam was scowling as he watched Dean stick a thumb tack viciously through the red envelope, pinning it to the wall with all of the others. Dean smirked at it like it was a trophy he’d stolen from a twelve-year-old. 

“What d’ya think, Sammy?” Dean asked jovially, turning to grin at his brother.

“I think it’s sick,” Sammy replied. “You are sick. There is something wrong with you.”

“Hey, if there’s something wrong with me, then there’s something wrong with you.” Dean brushed past him, still grinning, on his way into the kitchen. Sam rolled his eyes.

“I just don’t understand why you do this. _Normal people_ don’t do this.”

“Hey, any red-blooded guy would be proud to show that he’s not tied down to some chick,” Dean insisted, pulling the refrigerator door open and peering at its contents. “I’m just glad it’s almost over,” he continued, grabbing the ingredients for what would most likely be a massive abomination of a sandwich.

“You know, you can opt out of the pool,” Sam pointed out.

“Where’s the fun in that?” He gestured to the nine red envelopes pinned and taped to the wall of their apartment, all in various states of disrepair. “I came, I saw, I conquered, dude. Even angels can’t keep me down. The whole destiny thing is bullshit, anyway.” Dean pulled several slices of bread out and laid them on the counter. He almost offered Sam a sandwich, too, but his brother was giving him that weird, angry constipated face again, so he decided against it. Sam could make his own damn lunch.

“That bullshit is how Mom and Dad got together, Dean.” Sam sighed heavily and practically collapsed into one of the chairs in their small dining room, restlessly straightening his tie. “I get that you don’t want that for yourself, I just don’t -- “ He snapped his mouth shut and looked away.

Sam could see the guilt immediately apparent on Dean’s face. Sam knew his brother hadn’t meant to flaunt what he had right in front of him. Dean knew, everyone knew, for goodness’ sake, that Sam was into it -- the whole idea of fate, of winged cherubs choosing some perfect soulmate for everyone. Dean just didn’t buy it. Hell, Dean could probably be single forever and stay at least somewhat happy as long as he got laid now and then. Ever since Dean had gotten that first letter, that first name -- and damn if that hadn’t ended spectacularly -- it had become a kind of game. A way to outsmart the system. The cupid brigade insisted that they could find the perfect match for anyone, and Sam knew his brother was determined to prove them wrong. Once Dean got that tenth letter, the tenth match, and that one failed like all the others... Well, then the angels would have to admit that they were wrong, and put it on some official documentation to prove it, too. Once that happened, he’d win the game. 

Sam didn’t see it as some stupid game, though, and he could tell that Dean sort of pitied him for it. Whereas Dean waited for the next letter so that he could continue his mission of sexual conquest, Sam waited for the naive idea that a piece of paper from a bunch of douchebags with wings would help him find his True Love. And he’d been waiting for twelve years. If they kept him waiting, if Sam’s thirtieth birthday rolled around and he still hadn’t gotten a letter, that was it. They took him out of the pool. Labelled him as “unmatchable.” It was sad, it was terrifying, and, according to Dean, really, really stupid.

“Hey, listen,” Dean grumbled. “I didn’t mean to, ya know, make you feel bad or anything. I mean, the whole system’s fucked. You shouldn’t let it bother you.”

“Easy for you to say.” Sam was pouting at the kitchen table, sifting through the bills and junk mail left there. 

“Look, you’re a good-looking guy -- I mean, you gotta be, you’re related to me -- “ Dean gave his brother a smug look. “You’ve got a job and a car and you’re not a complete moron. Just go find a date on your own.” Sam mumbled something incoherent and Dean shrugged in defeat. It was the same argument they always had. Sam was depressed the cupids hadn’t stuck him with one of their little arrows, Dean told him to find a girlfriend on his own, Sam stubbornly refused. He knew why. Dean glanced up at one of the photographs of their parents on the wall. It was taken when they were younger, and they were kissing with silly smiles on their faces. Mary was wearing a blue dress.

Yeah, Dean got why Sam acted this way. He just didn’t know what to do about it any more.

“Come on,” he grumbled. “We’d better get going. I know those seraphim tightwads like to keep you on a short leash.” Sam opened his mouth to say something scathing, but seemed to think better of it.

“Jerk,” he muttered, grabbing his briefcase as Dean attempted to shove the giant sandwich he’d spawned into a paper bag.

“Bitch.” 

\-------------------------------------

The Winchester brothers had a system. Dean worked with the Watcher Division, looking out for the safety of the citizens. It was a joint venture between the angels there and humans, dedicated to protecting the populace from criminals and monsters. It was perfect for Dean, and the main office was just blocks away from the Seraphim, which was convenient for his brother.

Sam had worked for the Seraphim ever since he got out of school. They were the foremost governing body of their world, taking charge of creating the laws as well as upholding them. He guessed you could call it a dream. He was still working to help people, but more on the legal side of things. He preferred it that way. Dean pulled up in front of the Authority complex, buildings grey and ominous, and Sam jumped out, the same as every morning.

“Take care, Sammy,” Dean said with a little wave, pulling back out into traffic towards the Watcher building. Sam shoved his hands in his pockets and strolled towards his office. 

He passed the smallest of the three buildings along the street, home of the Malakim envoy, all smooth concrete reaching up into the sky, adorned only with the winged crest of the Malakim. Then there was the Cherubim building, with its glittering glass dome and elegant columns. Three statues stood out front: an eagle, an ox, and a man. It was a somewhat foreboding building for such a romantic purpose. Sam felt like it was mocking him. Finally, he came to his building. It looked much like a gigantic courthouse, with an open green lawn stretching out in front. It was slightly cold, but it was familiar. Sam couldn’t help but smile to himself. 

\-------------------------------------

Sam liked his job, but he was glad he had the weekend ahead of him. He loosened his tie and sat heavily in his armchair. The leather creaked as he shifted in place and Sam searched for the TV remote on the messy table next to him. How Dean managed to create so much clutter was a mystery that had haunted Sam for nearly three decades. He was just about to give up his hunt when the doorbell rang. 

He swung the door open to reveal a kid who couldn’t have been more than sixteen wearing a red striped uniform and a big smile. 

“Greetings on this beautiful day, sir,” he chirped, completely oblivious to the overcast skies behind him. “I’m with the Cherubim, my name is Samandriel.” Sam brightened at the introduction. 

“Hey! My name is Sam, too.” Samandriel was positively delighted out of his pants by the news. 

“Isn’t that swell? The world is full of happy coincidences.” Sam sometimes wondered if the Cherubim were on some kind of stimulant. Coffee, soda, cocaine, maybe meth. 

“How can I help you, Samandriel?” 

“Gosh you’re so kind, I have a letter here for someone very special,” Samandriel teased in a sing-song voice and pulled out a red envelope from his messenger bag. “Is there a Dean Winchester residing at this address?” 

Sam’s face fell. Of course, what else had he fucking expected? He snatched the envelope from the cherub’s hand and slammed the door in his face just as Samandriel reminded him to have a delightful day. 

Dean thought it was funnier than hell when he got home a few hours later. 

“Damn, you kidding me? I just got one of these a week ago. They must want me out of the pool fast. Can’t believe you gave that kid a hard time.”

Sam frowned and muttered, “He’ll be fine, you know how they are. He probably thought a strong wind came through the apartment and shut the door accidentally.” 

Dean hummed in agreement and tore open the envelope with no finesse and read the letter inside as he fished a few Cheetos out of the bag on the coffee table. He laughed obnoxiously and Sam kind of wanted to strangle him. 

“It’s another angel, guess I haven’t defiled enough of them. Well, not that she was--” Dean cleared his throat. “Chick’s name is Castiel. Get this: she works in the accounting department for the Cherubim. I didn’t even know they needed accountants. I bet she’s a sexy librarian type, all brainy with glasses. Might as well go out on a good note.” 

“Are you sure Castiel is a woman? She has one of those angel gender neutral names.” Sam only asked because it was a common mistake to make. Dean shrugged.

“Okay, so maybe he’s a sexy librarian in a sweater vest. Either way, totally my type.” 

Sam rolled his eyes. Everybody was Dean’s type. He rubbed his forehead in exasperation. 

“I just can’t believe this, you just broke up with that Carmen or whatever.” Dean shrugged. 

“Them’s the breaks, kid.” 

Sam couldn’t handle his brother and stormed off to his room like he was a teenager again.

“Oh, come on, Sammy. Don’t be sore!” He followed after Sam, waving his letter around. “There’s all this extra crap written here, I need you to sort through the legalese for me.” 

“Figure it out for yourself, I’ve got a headache.” 

“Sammy, Saaaammy. Please?” 

Sam turned on his heels and took the letter from Dean to shut him up. He scanned the paper and frowned.

“It basically says you need to meet this Castiel at the Cherubim headquarters before any ‘informal meetings,’ I guess they mean dates.” He pointedly ignored Dean’s smug noises. “It’s a very old fashioned thing. I’ve never actually heard of anyone doing it in this century.”

“Great, old fashioned. Prude more like.”

“Well, I guess it means you’ve got to go to the Cherubim office tomorrow.” Dean made a face like he’d eaten something unpleasant.

“Ugh, I don’t want to go there. Sounds stuffy. Hey I know! Why don’t you tag along, Sam? I know you’ve always had a hankering to go in there. Who knows, maybe you can bribe one of the cupid guys to hook you up with a swimsuit model or something.”

“I don’t think it works that way, Dean.” 

“Lighten up, Sam. Come on, come with me. It’ll be fun.” Sam worried his bottom lip. 

“You just said you didn’t want to go, why is it fun all of a sudden?”

“I don’t know, brotherly bonding or some crap. Just go with me, I promise I’ll get you some of that spinach salad you like at the Roadhouse later. Hey you like that.” 

“Fine,” Sam shook his head, “it just better not take too long.” 

“Never takes too long with me, Sammy, if you know what I mean.” Dean cocked an eyebrow and smirked. Sam sighed heavily. His brother was difficult to deal with sometimes, but he was genuinely curious about the inner workings of the Cherubim Headquarters. Maybe he could find somebody and ask about his fate and if he’d be getting a letter anytime soon. Perhaps there was a clerical error. That would explain everything. 

\-------------------------------------

“Well, it’s clean,” Dean said. It was a vast understatement; the inside of Cherubim Headquarters was blindingly white with hyper-polished marble floors and columns which supported the nose-bleed high ceiling. A tiny metal plaque proclaimed it to be called the Solomon Building. It smelled antiseptic and Sam was pretty sure it would be safe to perform surgery in here.

“The angels at my precinct are total slobs. So, are we like the only ones here?” Dean’s voice echoed through the foyer, “Hello?” 

Sam had always been, well, not awestruck exactly, but definitely intrigued by the angels. It was probably a big part of the reason he’d always wanted to work with the Seraphim. He was also, predictably, puzzled by them. Angels as a whole seemed to have a somewhat unsteady grasp on How to Interact with Humans 101, but some were definitely better than others. While the Watchers at Dean’s precinct were boisterous, the angels at Sam’s office were cold; while the Malakim were always sharp and intense, the Cherubim were undoubtedly chipper. One thing they all shared was a certain drive and a decidedly inhuman air. 

He thought of Samandriel and winced inwardly at his earlier behavior. He was having a hard time imagining such a sweet kid in such a cold facility when a familiar voice rang out.

“Sam?” Samandriel had just freaking _appeared_ , like angels were prone to do, and was grinning from ear to ear. “Well fancy seeing you again! It’s me -- Samandriel!”

“Yeah, I, uh, remember you,” Sam mumbled. Samandriel looked like he might faint from joy.

“Well, I’m here for a Dean Winchester,” he chirped, holding up a piece of paper. “That’s not you, is it?”

“No, that’s my brother. I’m Sam, remember? You literally just called me by my name.” Samandriel just shrugged.

“You never know! I don’t like to make assumptions. It could be your middle name, or a nickname!”

“Why would my nickname be my brother’s name?”

“Nicknames are funny that way. Sometimes folks call me Alfie and I have no idea why!” Sam stared, perplexed, then pointed to a spot behind the angel.

“He’s over there.” 

Samandriel proceeded to lead Dean up a large staircase, jabbering about how exciting it all was, with no apparent need or desire to breathe. Dean’s face was flashing between irritation, confusion, and something that might have been fear.

Sam sighed and resigned himself to waiting. Peering around at the polished marble, he couldn’t help wondering where the letters came in and went out. He peeked around the corner. If he could just see his file, maybe it would all make sense...

“You lost?” 

Sam whipped around and found himself staring down at a stranger wearing a green jacket and a self-confident smirk. He didn’t look particularly like an angel, but Sam guessed he must be one from the way he’d appeared out of thin air. He had an open, mischievous sort of grin, and Sam found himself unable to explain his mediocre snooping.

“I, uh,” he stammered. 

“I’m sure you’re used to clearing tall buildings in a single leap, but this place can be a maze. Want a tour?” the angel asked, unfazed. Sam blinked. He couldn’t think of why not.

“Sure, I guess,” he blurted out, sounding a little more eager than he’d intended. “That is, if you’ve got the time.”

“For you, kiddo? I’ve got all the time in the world. Gabe.” He held out his hand and Sam grasped it automatically. He wondered if there was a good way to ask about his file, a way to bring up his complete and utter lack of romantic potential, without sounding too desperate. Maybe he didn’t care if he sounded desperate -- he was desperate. This angel dude could be the answer to his problem.

“I’ve been known to render people speechless now and then,” a warm voice cut through his inner monologue, “but usually this is the part where you tell me _your_ name.” Sam flushed and jerked his hand out of the guy’s -- Gabe’s -- grip.

“Sorry,” he muttered. “Just out of it, I guess. Sam. Sam Winchester. I work over with the Seraphim.” Gabe’s eyebrows jumped up.

“Cripes, you’re with legal? This isn’t an inspection, is it?” he teased. “Here to shut us down for good? I know how you lawyer types hate fun and love and basically everything beautiful in the world.” Sam couldn’t help but laugh.

“No, just visiting.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

“I guess I can trust you then. You’ve got one of those faces. Come on, Sammy, let me show you the wonderful world of the Cherubim! I can arrange for some Oompa-Lumpas if you’d like.”

“Uh, no, that’s really okay.”

“Your loss.” 

Gabe proceeded to drag him around the foyer, pointing out ancient sculptures and paintings and proclaiming most of the artists to be either douchebags or passably attractive. He didn’t mention anything about letters or files, though. Sam found himself wondering exactly what he’d gotten himself into when they began scaling the staircase he’d seen Dean go up. He surreptitiously glanced around, looking for something that might have been a file room while Gabe blathered on beside him.

“--And that’s where I drank Camael under the table. I guess that whole flaming sword thing was to save face. What a lightweight. And over there’s where I made it with Himeros. I wouldn’t recommend it, he’s all tongue. Are you even listening? This is some important history here, buddy.”

“Oh, um, yeah! Sorry.” Gabe narrowed his eyes.

“No one seriously comes to cupid HQ for a tour of the facilities. Or listens to me for that long. What are you really here for?”

“Well, I came here with my brother. Some kind of meeting.”

“Yeah? And what else?”

Sam felt his face go hot. Suddenly his missing letter problem seemed frivolous, juvenile. Definitely not something he wanted to talk about with a stranger -- even a chatty, easygoing stranger with a nice ass. Scratch that last part. He’d sworn off dating for the time being. But Gabe was staring at him with an earnest, piercing gaze, head slightly tilted, waiting for an answer.

“Well,” Sam heard himself say, “there is -- ”

“Sam!” Samandriel’s now-familiar voice cut through the conversation. The angel beckoned them forward. “And Gabriel! It’s such an honor to see you again, sir.” He looked a little tongue-tied and Sam wondered exactly what Gabe did, or Gabriel, apparently... it must be a popular angel name, like Jessica. Or David. Whatever.

“Come on, it’s time for the formal meeting. This will be so wonderful!” Samandriel got a far-off, starry-eyed look that Sam pointedly ignored.

“Wait a second,” Gabe began, looking at Sam sideways. “You said Winchester, right? Are you the one that’s unlucky enough to be matched with my brother? Say it ain’t so.”

“Uh, no, it ain’t so,” Sam mumbled. “That’s my brother, Dean. So you’re... Castiel’s brother? I mean, I guess all angels are brothers, aren’t they?” Gabe shrugged.

“Sort of? It’s complicated. More of a brotherly bond, not so much by blood, though I do have some of those.”

“Huh?”

“Brothers. Like real brothers. Three of ‘em. Pain in my ass.”

“And this Castiel is one of them?” Sam made a mental note that he had been totally right, Castiel was a dude. Not that Dean would mind, despite his macho attitude. 

“Nah, Cassie’s just special.” Gabe shoved his hands in his pockets and chuckled. “Heh. My brother is gonna bone your brother.” He winced. “Well, more realistically, _not_ bone. Actually, I feel kinda bad for your brother. What’s his name again?”

“Dean,” Sam grumbled. Dean, Dean, Dean. That’s all anyone ever wanted to talk about.

“My condolences to Dean.” Gabriel straightened up and slapped Sam on the back as Samandriel led them into a meeting room. “Time to play chaperone, Sammy.”

\-------------------------------------

The room was pretty unremarkable, like any small office. Although hopefully most offices were devoid of Sam’s brother standing in the middle of them glaring at some equally sore guy in a trench coat. Sam couldn’t leave Dean alone for ten minutes before he managed to piss someone off. Samandriel was standing between the pair, beaming like there was no other place he’d rather be than the center of an angry alpha male sandwich.

“Sam, you’ve finally arrived and Gabriel, sir!” Samandriel vibrated with excitement. Sam tried to catch Dean’s attention, but he was too busy boring a hole into mystery trench coat guy’s face. Gabriel leaned over to whisper to the human.

“Your brother makes friends fast.”

“Yeah... Is that Castiel?” Gabriel rolled his eyes.

“I hope your brother doesn’t like having fun.”

Samandriel cleared his throat and spoke, “Now that we’ve gathered it’s time to proceed. This is my first time doing this, so sorry for any mistakes!”

“You got promoted, huh?” Sam asked, trying to relieve some of the lingering awkwardness he felt about the young angel. Samandriel glowed, but Castiel interjected with a voice blues singers would envy.

“He is the only one who wanted to do it. Everyone else was busy.”

“It’s an honor,” Samandriel squeaked pleasantly. “Now are you Dean Winchester? And you, Castiel, Angel of the Lord?”

“Yes,” they spoke simultaneously in matching harsh tones.

“And you, Samuel Winchester and Gabriel, brother to Castiel have witnessed the meeting of this pair matched by the divine grace of Heaven?”

Sam and Gabriel agreed. It felt weirdly like they were attending a shotgun wedding. Samandriel clapped his hands.

“Then it is done! It is strongly encourage that the matched pair go on an _unchaperoned_ outing together,” Samandriel spoke in a stage whisper as though such a concept was scandalous in the 21st century. Dean huffed and finally tore his gaze from the rigid angel.

Castiel spoke woodenly, “I know a place we can go. I must fetch an item from my office, but I will promptly return to escort you.” Before Dean could agree, Castiel vanished on the spot.

“What happened between you two?” Sam asked, Dean crossed his arms and glared darkly.

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Castiel is in accounting, he’s not a people person.” Gabriel shrugged. Sam furrowed his brow.

“What do angels need an accounting department for?”

Gabriel just gave Sam an expression that read, ‘why do you think, Dumbo?’ Then Castiel reappeared next to Dean who nearly jumped out of his skin and cursed loudly. Castiel watched his display apathetically and when Dean’s rant was finished, he requested that the human follow him. Dean obviously wanted to do the exact opposite of whatever Castiel told him, but marched after him out of the office with a gruff goodbye to Sam.

Sam watched his brother leave and looked back to see Samandriel smiling dopily at him and Gabriel like he had been for the past five minutes. Sam spoke quietly so only Gabriel could hear him.

“Is he alright? He kind of comes off like he’s been lobotomized.”

“Well, he did used to work with Naomi, but he’s just, uh, chipper.” Gabriel then spoke at full volume, “Good job, Alfie. Go see if someone needs help… somewhere. I don’t know, just figure it out.”

Samandriel saluted and disappeared. Angels were fairly weird, Sam decided. Watching Castiel and Dean leave for their (probably super awkward) lunch date, Sam felt his shoulders slump downwards in a mix of jealousy and resignation. 

“So how do I get out of here?” he grumbled.

“Leaving so soon? We were in the middle of an important conversation about my sexual conquests and your super secret desire to be a cherub or something.” Gabe snapped his fingers and coffee appeared in Sam’s hand, warm and tempting through the paper cup. Gabe sipped on his own magical angel coffee, which was topped with a generous mound of whipped cream. 

“You were going to tell me something?” he prompted. Sam looked down and shuffled his feet, which was ridiculous, because he hadn’t shuffled his feet in embarrassment since high school. He was a grown man, dammit! He reminded himself that this was business -- Gabe worked here, and was some kind of big shot too, so it was his responsibility to help, right?

“Come on, spill,” Gabe urged. “Unhappy with your supermodel match? Looking for more of a sexy nurse type? Because that can be arranged.” He waggled his eyebrows, which definitely did not make Sam almost spit out his coffee.

“No, no, kind of the opposite, actually,” he admitted.

“Been a while between letters? I wouldn’t worry. Sometimes the celestial matchmaking service is a little slower than you’d like.”

“No, it’s that... well, I’m almost 30 and I-I’ve never gotten a letter.” Gabe actually looked shocked for a moment.

“Seriously? _Never?_ ” Sam shook his head, defeated.

“Wow. I mean... wow. The Almighty really dropped the ball on that one. That’s a bummer, Sam.”

“I was actually hoping to, I dunno, check out my file or something. Make sure there’s nothing... wrong. Out of the ordinary.”

“No one gets access to their own file, Sam,” Gabriel sighed. “Not even angels.”

“That makes sense.” Sam tried not to seem too disappointed, but Gabe’s sidelong glances were surprisingly observant.

“But I could check on your file, if you’d like. Make sure you’re not labelled as a serial killer. You’re not one, right?”

“No!” Sam laughed. “I’m not. I swear.”

“That’s just what a serial killer would say. But I’ve got a soft spot for lonely murderers. I’ll take a look.” He glanced at an elaborate clock on the wall that was probably older than Sam. Two Sams. Maybe three. “Who knows how long our idiot brothers will be. What say you wait right here, I’ll nab your file, and we can grab lunch?” Gabriel flashed a rather blindingly charming smile and Sam fought against the urge to roll his eyes. He wasn’t stupid. He knew what Gabe was up to, and it was a decent excuse for a date. He’d promised himself no dating until the big 3-0, but he couldn’t see the harm in a simple lunch.

“Yeah, okay,” he finally agreed. “Sounds great. I really appreciate it.”

“No sweat, kiddo,” Gabe replied brightly, rocking back on his heels. “Just stay put. I’ll make sure your file is spick ‘n span.”

“You, uh, must be a big shot around here if you can just poke around in people’s files,” he chuckled. “You’re Samandriel’s boss, right? Someone needs to stop giving that kid stimulants.”

“You could say that,” Gabriel hummed. Sam rose an eyebrow.

“What are you, the CFO?”

“We’re _angels/i > _

“You have accountants,” Sam pointed out.

“We have accounts.”

“So... what? You’re the president? The head honcho? The final boss?”

“I’m kind of everyone’s boss. Well, everyone here.”

“Are we talking everyone in this office or everyone on this floor or...?”

“More like everyone in this building. And a few others, I think.” Sam gaped.

“Wait, wait. Your name is _Gabriel_.”

“Don’t wear it out. Or do. But I’d prefer that under different circumstances, like screaming circumstances.”

“But not like... _the_ Gabriel, right? It’s gotta be a popular angel name.”

“Um, Sam? There are no ‘popular’ angel games. We’re all one of a kind.”

“But... _the_ Gabriel is an archangel!” Gabe spread his hands wide.

“You caught me. So, lunch? I’m thinking Thai.”

“I can’t go to lunch with you! You’re an archangel!”

“Ah, ah, ah,” Gabriel waggled his finger, “you already agreed. We have a verbal contract. No take-backsies. See you in a jiffy, Sam.” With that, he winked obnoxiously and disappeared, leaving Sam to mull over exactly what he’d gotten himself into.

After five minutes of having a nervous breakdown over the fact that he was going on a date ( _just lunch Winchester, pull yourself together_ ) with an archangel ( _it’s just a title, meaningless really, and you’re taller anyway_ ) which felt like an eternity, Gabe reappeared. Sam tried not to jump or clutch his pearls like a distressed southern belle.

“Miss me?” Gabe said with a smirk, holding up a file folder triumphantly. It wasn’t very impressive, really. Sam was vaguely disappointed. Just a thin file folder, white, with a slight silvery sheen. He could see there were papers inside -- chronicles of his life, maybe? His sexual history? His last physical? There was no way to tell, short of snatching it away from an archangel.

“No peeking, Sam,” Gabriel tutted, as though he could read Sam’s mind. Maybe he could. Without warning, Gabe reached up and pressed fingertips to Sam’s forehead, and suddenly he had the awful, exhilarating sensation of his brain being sucked out through his pants pockets and rearranged into a tasteful bouquet. Being angel-teleported was an experience he’d had a few times before, usually when his angelic coworkers were impatient with mundane travel arrangements, but he got the feeling that Gabriel had a little more... _juice_. It left his skin tingling and the usual nausea subsided almost instantly.

They were in a small restaurant packed with brightly colored tables and chairs and the the air was permeated with the smell of peanut sauce and hot chiles. The angel dragged him to a table in the corner. An unimpressed-looking waitress soon approached.

“The Archangel Gabriel,” she greeted monotonously. “As I live and breathe.” She wasted no time and placed some creamy iced beverage in front of him, then looked at Sam expectantly.

“Thai iced tea?” Gabe offered, shoving the glass in Sam’s face. Sam tentatively took a sip, then grimaced.

“Wow, that’s,” he choked a little, “ _really_ sweet. I’ll just have water, thanks.” Gabriel looked disappointed, then proceeded to order some kind of elaborate noodle dish that involved fish balls and made the waitress’ scowl deepen. Sam chose a salad. 

Gabriel leaned back in his chair and flipped through Sam’s file, brow furrowed, as they waited for their food. His eyes flicked sharply across the paper and Sam fidgeted nervously. That file undoubtedly had some very intimate information in it, and watching Gabe read it was understandably nerve-wracking.

“I hate to break it to you, kiddo,” he began, “but there’s nothing wrong with your file. Everything’s in order. I honestly don’t know why you’ve never been matched.” He sounded apologetic, but there was no pity in his voice, which Sam was thankful for. “That’s heavenly Bachelorette for you. Take it from me, you don’t need the Almighty to hook you up with anyone.”

“That’s not--” Sam bit his tongue as their food arrived. He didn’t want to snap at Gabriel, or spill his guts about why he wanted that letter so badly. He sighed in resignation. “Thanks anyway. I appreciate it, really.”

Gabe gave him a lopsided smile and started attacking his noodles with obvious fervor, despite his lack of need for sustenance. After his discouragement subsided, Sam was surprised to find that he was having a good time. Gabriel was charismatic and joyful, brimming with anecdotes about angels and demons and demigods. He laughed too loud and couldn’t go five minutes without making a raunchy comment. Sam found that he didn’t mind, though, because his usual lunch hour was long gone when they decided it was time to go and rescue Dean and Castiel from each other.

“I’ll keep an eye on your file,” Gabe promised. “And grill your brother for all the dirty details! I can’t wait to see this train wreck happen.”

\-------------------------------------

Sam looked up from the newspaper when Dean blew into the apartment like a tornado. 

“You’re not going to fucking believe it, but he took me to eat at the building cafeteria. Because he gets free lunch there. I still had to pay for mine of course and they just had this weird crap like hummus and these rice pellet things like you’re feeding freaking llamas.” Dean forcefully tossed his jacket over the back of the sofa, “I’ve never met someone so gifted at killing a conversation. He stared at me resentfully the whole time and didn’t laugh at any of my jokes!” 

“Nobody laughs at your jokes.”

“Shut up, I’m hilarious. He’s just more sheltered than a monk and a pain in my ass. Not the good kind either.” 

“So, your last match went out with a whimper I guess.” 

Dean sighed, “Actually I’m taking him out Tuesday. Show that stuffy bird brain what a date is supposed to be like. Where did you disappear off to?” Sam told his brother about his lunch with Gabriel and Dean waggled his eyebrows suggestively. “Archangel, eh? Aiming high as always, Sammy.” 

Sam rolled his eyes and went back to solving the crossword puzzle. This was going to be a _treat_. 

\-------------------------------------

Over the next few weeks, Dean took Castiel out on increasingly romantic and resentful dates. Sam rolled his eyes every time his brother insisted that it was just to “educate the asshole.” Sam may have made a snide comment about when Dean was going to move on to Sex Ed and he was met with utter disgust.

“I mean you’ve been on like five dates already, haven’t you at least made out or something?” Sam only asked because he’d never known Dean to go out with anyone he didn’t bang within the first week, not even in high school. He was concerned lest his only sibling had caught some kind of rare disease. Like monogamy. 

“Ugh, gross. I wouldn’t kiss him if you put a gun to my head,” Dean said as he packed up a picnic basket for his lunch date.

“Really?” Sam raised an eyebrow and leaned a hip against the kitchen door jamb. “Because I’ve never seen you go to these lengths for a date before. I mean, man, you’re wearing a vest!” Dean forcefully tossed the bag of assorted gourmet cheeses in the basket. 

“Oh yeah?” he challenged. “I’m a vest guy now. Ask anyone!” Sam stared at him skeptically. 

“Dude, you always said they made you look like a monkey.”

“They make me look _debonair_! All the chicks dig it.” And Castiel, Sam would bet. Dean slapped the basket lid shut and grabbed the bouquet sitting on the counter. He gestured with it angrily at Sam. “I don’t need any lip from you, what I wear is my own damn business. At least I don’t have long hippy hair and a…stupid nose!”

Sam didn’t even bother to hold back his smirk. Weak comebacks were always a sure sign of Dean getting defensive. Dean stormed off to meet Castiel at the botanical gardens. Out of respect, Sam waited until he slammed the door before he texted Gabriel all the details.

Ever since their lunch together, they met up regularly under the pretense of Gabriel updating Sam on the status of his letter, (it was always, “sorry Sammy, not a peep,”) but really it was to gossip about their brothers and just chat. Gabriel had contacted him first, with a jokingly fearful phone call about Castiel’s “angry falcon glare” following his date with Dean. When Sam demanded to know how he’d gotten his cell phone number, Gabe had appeared on his desk with a quiet pop, pointed to himself, and exclaimed, “Hellooo? Archangel!” 

Gabriel had the wildest anecdotes and Sam figured at least some of them had to be true. It got to the point where Sam memorized Gabriel’s elaborate and oddly specific coffee order. He half suspected Gabriel just got it to mess with the baristas.

They met up at their usual coffee shop later that evening. Minutes later, Gabriel was wiping tears from his eyes.

“I can’t believe that mook! He’s gonna wind up proposing to Castiel just to prove a point and my brother’s dumb enough to accept.”

“What do they even do on their dates? I mean I can’t imagine Dean or Castiel being lovey-dovey.”

“I asked ol’ Cas-pants, but he’s tighter than a clam about these things. We should find out, we should tail them on their next date.”

“I don’t know,” Sam hedged, he wasn’t entirely comfortable spying on his brother, but sneaking around with Gabriel sounded fun. Sam hadn’t had fun in a long time.

“Look, you know I hate to brag, but I _am_ an archangel.”

“You’re an archangel?” Sam interrupted with insincere incredulousness. Gabriel swatted at him.

“Like I was saying, I’m all powerful, I can totally hide us so those love-hate birds would never notice.” Gabriel waggled an eyebrow. “What d’ya say, Sam?”

Sam was ashamed of how little convincing he needed and started to form a plan with the devious archangel.

\-------------------------------------

Gabriel didn’t understand why he even needed a desk. An office, sure. All important people needed offices. But a desk? He just wasn’t a desk kind of guy. A desk only served to remind him of all his damn _responsibilities_. Instead, he preferred to think of it as a flat, ineffectual storage space. Whose bright idea was it to make him head of the Cherubim, anyway? Michael got the Seraphim (of course), Luci got the Malakim (that sort of made sense), Raphi got the Watchers (Dad help ‘em), and he got stuck with the love brigade. 

Gabriel didn’t even like the whole matching system. It worked for some people, sure, and that was great. Heck, he’d even gotten a good match out of it once with Kali, but that sort of went down in flames (pun intended). What killed him was the rules. They were so stringent, arbitrary, antiquated. Everything he wasn’t. Worst of all, it left people like Sam Winchester all mopey and heartsick. The system must be flawed if someone like Sam was left out. 

All the same, it was Gabe’s job to make sure things kept running. He sifted absentmindedly through his inbox, tossing meaningless memos aside -- didn’t angels know how to use email? -- until he came to something that made him pause. It was a large brown envelope addressed to him with the This Is Sort of Important seal stamped on the front. For one panicked moment, he thought it might be a match for him, but all matches were hand-delivered to ensure receipt. Besides, archangel matches required archangel approval, so one of his idiot brothers would have undoubtedly already dropped by to poke fun at him. Maybe that’s what it was -- they’d finally found someone for Raphael and needed Gabe’s approval. That guy could definitely use a good lay. He tore open the folder and scanned the familiar words quickly before his heart stuttered to a halt at the first name.

_Samuel Winchester._

He didn’t know why he was so surprised. He’d put a flag on Sam’s file, after all. Just the same, a thick cloud of melancholy descended on his shoulders and his stomach sank knowingly. Of course the first guy he’d been interested in (like, actually interested in, not just a quick fuck, though he’d definitely be open to that, too) for decades would get a damn match. Just his luck. Out of pure curiosity, he scanned the rest of the letter until he came to the name of Sam’s supposed true love. 

This time, his stomach didn’t sink -- it attempted to bust through his chest, _Alien_ -style. The letter slipped from his fingers and he immediately dropped to the floor, scrambling to find it. They’d definitely have his ass if he lost a match like this one. It was a mistake, it had to be. There was just no way. He couldn’t subject Sam to... _that_. But even as he re-read the names, he knew it was no mistake. There were no mistakes. That’s what everyone said, anyway. And, in some weird fuck-off way, it made sense. 

Gabriel groaned and slammed his head down onto one of the many piles of paper and candy wrappers decorating his desk. Just his fucking luck. Best of all, joy of joys, he somehow had to give the news to Sam. 

\-------------------------------------

At eight o’clock sharp, exactly the time they’d discussed, there was an enthusiastic knock at Sam’s front door. Gabriel was knocking out an off-beat rhythm when Sam finally opened it. He could only stare in shock for a few moments.

“You look, uh, interesting,” he muttered.

“I think the word you’re looking for is,” Gabe clicked his tongue and winked garishly, “ _18 karat._ ” The archangel -- _archangel_ , that was still really hard to believe -- was dressed in crisp, straight-leg jeans rolled up the ankle to reveal bright white socks and shiny black loafers. He was also wearing a yellow checkered button-up and a bright red jacket that clashed horrifically with the whole outfit. Sam was almost certain there was decades-old pommade combed into his hair.

“That’s two words,” Sam finally pointed out.

“Whatever.” Gabriel shrugged. “I just figured I’d go with the whole drive-in movie theme. Admit it, you love it.”

“Yeah, sure, I love it. I’m this close to throwing on my poodle skirt and doing the Lindy Hop.”

“Lindy Hop was the 30s Sam, get with the picture. The 50s were all about the Jitterbug.” Gabe started flapping his arms in something that somewhat resembled dancing. “Now where’s the poodle skirt? I’m serious here.”

“I am _not_ doing this in a poodle skirt.”

“Well, if you’d prefer to do it out of the poodle skirt, that’s fine too. Just keep the frilly socks, I’m begging you. Such a turn-on.” 

Sam found himself grinning stupidly. It was really ridiculous how comfortable he was around Gabriel, even when the topic of conversation was crossdressing and innuendo. 

“Fine,” Sam chuckled. “I’ll make sure the socks stay on.”

“But seriously, you can’t go dressed like that.”

“What wrong with how I dress?” Sam demanded, holding out his arms and looking down at his outfit. Just a plain button-up and jeans. Standard.

“As much as I love how shapeless your ass looks in those jeans, if you’re gonna be seen out with me, it’ll be in something more exciting than that.” Gabriel chewed on his bottom lip and looked Sam up and down. “May I?” 

“May you what?” Sam asked, raising his brows. Gabriel gave him a ‘surely you jest’ sort of look and tilted his head to the side. Sam sighed heavily and let his arms drop to his sides. “ _Fine_ ,” he grumbled. Gabriel grinned like it was Christmas morning.

“So glad you said that, Sammy,” he laughed, snapping his fingers. Suddenly, Sam had the strange and unfamiliar of fabric snug around his waist and air around his thighs. He was also holding what appeared to be a pot roast.

“Gabriel,” Sam growled warningly. He wobbled a little in short kitten heels as he attempted to take a step towards the archangel. The floral pastel skirt, frilly apron, and pearls made it slightly less menacing. Gabe laughed uproariously and snapped up a pipe that he clenched in his teeth and blew small, iridescent bubbles out of. 

“Careful honey, you’ll burn the roast with that attitude,” he chuckled.

“ _Change it._ ”

“All right, all right,” Gabriel groaned, “have it your way.” He snapped again and Sam was thankful to feel denim wrapped around his legs again. He glanced down and noted a plain white shirt, black leather jacket, and short black boots.

“Acceptable,” Sam said with a nod.

“Glad it meets your standards, Princess,” Gabriel replied, giving Sam a sidelong glance that he hoped was subtle. Sam caught him at it and gave him the standard bitch face.

“Now can we go? Please?” Sam drawled.

“Sure thing, kiddo.” Gabriel leaned up and placed two fingers to Sam’s forehead, then came the strange, gut-twisting sensation that came from being angel mojo-ed 30 miles across the county. 

\-------------------------------------

“So let me get this straight -- you magic’d a car here for us to sit in, but you couldn’t drive it?” Sam drawled, eyeing Gabriel, who was way too into his weird greaser outfit. When Gabe had first showed him to their spying vehicle (he kept calling it ‘Barracuda One’), it was a cherry red Hummer. One look from Sam had made him snap it into a more manageable vintage convertible.

“Why would I _drive_?” Gabriel replied. “Who even drives any more?”

“Humans drive,” Sam pointed out. Gabriel shrugged and slipped into the driver’s seat.

Dean and Castiel were nowhere to be seen, but Gabriel insisted that they were close by. Sam wondered if he had a tracking device for Castiel or if it was just natural talent. Sam leaned against the side of the car and examined the white leather interior -- a detail Dean would have appreciated -- and a bored teenager passed by with snacks.

“Ooo, popcorn! Sam, get me popcorn.”

“Can’t you just mojo yourself some popcorn?”

“It’s not the same as you _bringing_ me popcorn, Sam,” Gabe insisted, turning puppy-dog eyes on him, complete with a slight lower lip quiver. 

“Fine,” Sam sighed. 

“Oh, and Jujubes! And Junior Mints! And Sour Patch Kids!” 

Gabriel was still calling out his candy demands when Sam turned and started trudging towards the snack stand. He ended up with a large popcorn, sodas, and a sampler pack of movie candies the cashier had recommended when he tried to buy one of everything. He shoved his way back through the crowd, loaded down with way too much sugar, then stopped cold when he came to a sudden realization.

This was a _date._

Not lunch, not coffee, not admittedly flirtatious text message gossip. A real, live date. Their second one, actually, if he counted the day they’d met. They might be there to spy on their brothers, sure, but that didn’t change the fact that they were dressed up, in a car, alone together, at a drive-in movie, and Sam had just bought Twizzlers separately because they didn’t come in the sampler pack and he thought Gabriel would like them. 

A trickle of cold, nervous sweat ran down the back of his neck. It wasn’t that he’d never dated -- just because he was a romantic about the letter thing didn’t mean he was a monk. He’d dated girls, a couple of them serious, and one guy during college, but he’d stayed away from dating recently in the hope that he’d finally get a match. He just wanted to avoid potential awkwardness.

But despite his best intentions, he’d ended up on a date, a real date, with Gabriel. And he was having fun, and there was this weird sensation that might have been _feelings_ , and _shit_. 

He blew out a breath. He just had to keep his cool. It was nothing, an infatuation. It was fun and easy, nothing that would keep him from getting a letter, nothing that would cause a dramatic scene if it ended. Gabe knew what Sam wanted, after all, and despite his insistence that he couldn’t make the system work any faster, Sam was more confident in his chances with the head of the Cherubim in his corner. Sam felt certain that despite his flirtatiousness, Gabriel had his best interests at heart. His shoulders relaxed and he continued walking towards the convertible. When he appeared with snacks, Gabe made a terribly inappropriate sound.

“Marry me,” he gushed, which made Sam’s face go uncomfortably warm. “Just in time -- our unlikely lovebirds have finally made their appearance. I think they’re arguing about AC/DC. Hard to tell.”

“Here,” Sam mumbled, shoving the Twizzlers and other assorted candy into the angel’s hands. He could feel another bead of sweat trickle down his face. Probably the heat. Definitely the heat.

“Twizzlers!” he exclaimed. “How did you know? Despite popular belief, bribery will get you everywhere.”

“I thought you might appreciate sticks of pure corn syrup.” Sam chuckled nervously, scanning the crowd for Dean and Castiel.

“What’s up with you, Sam?” Gabriel asked, raising a brow. “You’re sweatin’ like a sinner in church. Is it the socks? It’s the socks. I knew it.” 

“Yeah Gabe, it’s the socks.” Sam rolled his eyes and slid into the car beside the other man. Gabriel elbowed him in the side, his usual smirk a little bit softer, a little bit warmer than usual, but didn’t press the matter. 

“You ready for this reconnaissance mission, Sierra Whiskey?”

“Please don’t call me that.”

“Whatever you say, Sugar William.”

“Just don’t.”

“Desert Fox. Jungle Tiger. Golden Moose.”

“Gabriel.”

“Call me _Eagle Panther_. Three o’clock!” Gabriel shouted suddenly and shoved down Sam’s head. Which was ridiculous as it just bent him over awkwardly and hid nothing. If anything, it looked like he was doing a ‘favor’ for Gabriel.

“What the hell, man!” Sam sputtered and after a minute, Gabriel let up on Sam’s head and he straightened up. He fixed the archangel with a glare, but Gabriel didn’t seem very contrite.

“Sorry, Laverne and Shirley drifted a little too close to our hideout. They parked a few spots up.” Sam frowned.

“Couldn’t you have just made us invisible? Did you really have to try to put my head in your lap?”

Gabriel slowly looked over at the human and just stared at him and then, like an owl, moved his head back to face forward. It was actually a pretty good Castiel impression, whether intentional or not. Sam decided to let Gabriel’s weirdness slide, he was having a good time otherwise.

He craned his neck to see two figures in Dean’s beloved Impala. They sat at practically opposite ends of the car and didn’t appear to be interacting at all. Disappointing, but not unexpected.

“When will those idiots get a clue,” Sam muttered. Gabriel hummed in agreement.

“It’ll be great to watch it implode. Either they’re going to kill each other or start humping in public like dogs in heat. Considering I don’t think my baby bro is even aware he has a dick, I’ll go with the former.”

Sam didn’t respond, he just watched the pair. Gabriel shifted restlessly next to him like a child who needed to be entertained every waking second or he got antsy. Usually, that kind of impatience would irritate Sam, but it was oddly endearing to think angels were supposed to be these ancient, serene creatures and Gabriel was more like a hyperactive five year-old. 

“I think it’s going well, considering,” Sam commented after Dean shifted fractionally closer to Castiel. “They might get there sometime this decade.” 

“You really think they’re gonna work out, don’t you?” Gabriel asked incredulously.

“Dean is practically pulling Castiel’s pigtails and I’ve never seen him do this kinda thing for someone even if he claims it’s motivated by spite.” Sam knew his brother better than anyone.

“Whatever. They’re going to crash and burn, the system’s all jacked up anyway. Your brother isn’t the first to get ten letters.” Sam shook his head. 

“I’ve seen Dean manipulate it for all it’s worth, but I think it’s finally beaten him in the end.”

“You’re funny, Sam. Why do you want this to work out so bad?” Sam ducked his head and stuffed some popcorn in his mouth. “Oh my God, you think it’s _romantic_ , don’t you? Sam, there is nothing romantic about an arranged match. Love shouldn’t be forced on people, humans are supposed to thrive on free will.”

“You can say what you want, but I’ve seen it work,” Sam began, a bit defensively, “my parents were each others’ first match and I’ve never seen two people crazier for each other, even after years of being together. It might be idealistic of me to hope for something as wonderful as that, but I still want it so bad.” Sam felt embarrassed at how much he revealed, he was usually very private about these things. Something about Gabriel lowered his guard though. The archangel eyed him oddly, and something that looked suspiciously like guilt flared there, but was gone in an instant.

“You haven’t been saving yourself for Mr. Right, have you? Because that would be a damn shame.”

“I’ve dated on my own. My head isn’t _that_ far in the clouds. But, I always felt like, I don’t know, something greater was waiting for me. Like I’d get a letter, meet my match, and everything would just click into place.”

Sam stopped as he realized he was waxing poetic. Dean would have been mocking him a long time ago and he would have expected the same of Gabriel, but he had just observed Sam in contemplation. He seemed disillusioned with the letters. Understandable after looking at it an inch from your nose for centuries, but there was a flame of hope in Sam that couldn’t be doused. Its glow had loomed in the background of every serious relationship Sam had.

He remembered when Jess left him, saying even if everything was perfect Sam wouldn’t have the letter to prove it. He did feel a little regret about that. If he hadn’t sealed his heart like an envelope, Sam suspected Jess would have been so easy to love completely. Gabriel sighed and brought Sam back to the present.

“You’re one hell of a guy. Shine on you crazy diamond and all that. Whoever snags you is one lucky bastard.” For some reason, his voice sounded somewhat sad.

They both sat in silence, half watching the movie. After a few minutes, Sam spoke up.

“Thanks for not laughing at me.” Gabriel scrunched his nose. 

“I’ll laugh when you say something funny, Jerry Seinfeld. Now, quit hogging the Twizzlers.”

Gabriel gnawed at the red candy and snuck a glance over at Sam. The big lug was splitting his attention between the movie screen and his brother’s car, probably planning out Dean and Castiel’s damn wedding or something. Gabriel subconsciously touched his jacket over where the inside pocket was. 

The letter wasn’t so much as burning a hole in Gabe’s pocket as smolder annoyingly. It wasn’t that he meant to keep it from Sam, he’d just gotten distracted. After all, Sam had brought him enough Twizzlers and gummy bears to dispose of a weaker man. He had an obligation to finish it all. Then there was Castiel and Dean, being ridiculously entertaining. Finally, there was Sam -- Sam, who just kept being so damn _thoughtful_ and _cute_ and _clever_ and _sexy as hell_ just for extra torture. 

And... and he just didn’t want to give him the letter, okay? Why ruin a perfect night? Sam and his freaking smarmy-ass prince charming had waited long enough, hadn’t they? Whatever. He just wasn’t great at giving away things he liked. And Sam had -- somehow -- become a thing that he liked, damn it. He’d do it tomorrow. Or the next day. or maybe he’d just give it a week. In case of... something. Gabriel moved his hand to steal a fistful of popcorn from the bucket on Sam’s lap.


	2. Part Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam has been waiting for the Cherubim to match him up with his true love his entire life, but so far, he's had no luck. While Dean fully intends to stay a free-wheeling bachelor forever, Sam is desperate to find a match before his time runs out. When his brother is paired with an unlikely angel named Castiel, Sam is thrown head-first into a world of archangels, love letters, and an alarming amount of vests. However, as he gets closer to a particularly charming archangel named Gabriel, he starts to doubt the system. Hijinks include Gabriel in sock hop garb, spying on Dean and Cas, way too chipper Samandriel, creeper!Michael, and Gabriel and Lucifer fighting over Sam's pretty face (sort of).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This monstrosity was written for the Sabriel Minibang 2013. The wonderful art to accompany this fic can be found [here](http://http://saffron-zephyr.livejournal.com/371628.html).
> 
> Title: Amor Litteras  
> Author: menofsweaters ([tumblr](http://menofsweaters.tumblr.com) / [LJ](http://menofsweaters.livejournal.com)) and badgerempress ([tumblr](http://moose-tache.tumblr.com) / [LJ](http://moosetaches.livejournal.com))  
> Artist: saffron_zephyr ([LJ](http://saffron_zephyr.livejournal.com))  
> Pairing: Sam/Gabriel, Dean/Castiel, unrequited Sam/Lucifer, Lucifer/Michael if you squint  
> Rating: PG-13 for language and some sexual references  
> Warnings: None, unless any of the above pairings squick you out. It’s pretty tame.  
> Link on LJ: [Part One](http://menofsweaters.livejournal.com/1232.html) / [Part Two](http://menofsweaters.livejournal.com/1401.html) (includes pictures!)

When Gabe walked into his office, there was something different about it. There was some giant piece of wood and a big ugly chair where his Useless Paper Storage/Recycling Preparation area usually was. He’d been considering making it into some kind of modern art piece. He was simply puzzled for a moment before worry set in.

“Samandriel!” Gabriel called out, trying not to get ahead of himself. The chipper little angel popped up before him, grinning like an idiot. 

“Yes, sir! How can I help you, sir?”

“I know I’ve told you this before, but on the off chance you didn’t hear me the first fifteen times, please don’t call me sir.”

“Yes, si--” Gabriel waved a hand to cut Samandriel off. What was the point?

“Did you do something to my, uh,” he paused, then gestured to the giant block of wood.

“Your desk, sir?”

“Yeah, that one.”

“I took it upon myself to clean it up, sir! You just had so many old papers and trash, I don’t know how you managed to get anything done!” Samandriel looked so incredibly proud of himself, it was hard for Gabe to be angry at him. No, never mind, he was definitely angry. Under that anger was definitely some fear.

“You _cleaned_ my _desk_?” Gabriel demanded. Maybe there was some panic going on there, too.

“Yes, sir. I thought you might appreciate it. There was even an outdated Cherubim letter in your outbox! Can you believe that? I sent it out with Hester right away. I knew you wouldn’t want to keep anyone waiting!” Gabe tried very hard not to imagine squeezing Samandriel’s head like a grape. It only sort of worked.

“You did _what_?” he roared. Samandriel paled and looked distraught.

“I... I thought it was the right thing to do.”

“Well it wasn’t! That letter was--is--augh! Shit!” Gabriel sputtered incoherently. Samandriel’s eyes were glassy and downcast.

“I’m so sorry, sir.” Gabriel forced himself not to take out his panic attack on the other angel. He didn’t have time, anyway.

“You said you sent it out with Hester?” Samandriel nodded. 

Anger -- at Samandriel, at Hester, at Sam... but mostly at himself -- made Gabe’s flight a bit bumpy. He landed down the hall from Sam’s apartment, frazzled but intact, hopefully in time to catch the letter. 

“Hester!” he hissed, taking a few quick strides down the hall to bring him closer to the stern blonde. 

“Gabriel?” she asked quizzically. The red envelope was still clasped in her hand. “What’s going on?”

“You need to give me that letter.”

“What? No, I can’t do that.”

“Give me the letter, Hester!”

“No! It’s my responsibility to ensure this letter is delivered!” Hester’s face was starting to go a bit red. “This is my first assignment -- I’m not screwing it up.”

“I’m your _boss_ ,” Gabe pointed out. 

“I answer to a higher authority,” she replied haughtily. Gabriel rolled his eyes so far back in his head, he wasn’t entirely sure they’d come back around again. 

“Oh, you’re one of _those_ ,” he groaned. “You must be new.” Just as Gabe’s hand closed around the letter, the tell-tale sound of a door opening made his blood run cold. He shoved Hester away just in time to see Sam’s stony expression, brow furrowed deeply in irritation and bewilderment.

“Gabriel?”

“Heeey, kiddo!” Gabe greeted, plastering a fake grin on his face and attempting to tuck the letter out of sight.

“What’s going on out here?” Sam demanded, glancing from Gabe to Hester.

“Uh, well, nothing really--”

“Is that a letter?” With more speed than a human should rightfully have, he plucked it out of Gabriel’s fingers as the archangel gaped in dread. Sam’s eyebrows shot up when he read the address on the letter. “This... this is for me.” 

“Yeah. I, um, told you I’d keep an eye out for you, right?” Gabe shuffled awkwardly as Sam’s expression shifted from surprise and anticipation to a definite glower.

“Gabriel,” Sam began cooly, suspicion clear in his voice, “why is this dated from _three weeks ago_?”

“Well, you know, sometimes things get lost or--”

“Were you keeping this from me?”

“What? No, no, of course not...” One look at Sam’s face made the lie sputter out. “I-I... I can explain.” 

“How could you do this?” Sam whispered, fingers crumpling the envelope, which was kind of worse than shouting, really. “You knew how important this was to me.”

“I--It’s just that we were having such a good time,” Gabriel blurted out, and immediately regretted it. “I didn’t want to mess it up. It seemed like things were going somewhere.”

“ _Going_ somewhere? Like where, your bed? I know how you are, and that’s not what I want!”

“Sam, that’s not--” But Sam slammed the door in his face, leaving Gabe shouting at his peephole. “Sam! Sam! You know I can just walk through this door, right?”

“You won’t.”

Gabriel’s protests died in his throat and he thumped his head painfully against the closed door.

“Seems like your boyfriend wants some space,” Hester pointed out. Right, she was here. He’d almost forgotten.

“He is not my boyfriend.”

“I guess you’re right about that,” Hester said easily, arms crossed. Gabe snapped, descending on the other angel with all of his wrath.

“You! You are never delivering again! I’m demoting you back to the file room for the next century!”

“But--” 

With a snap of his fingers, Hester found her mouth duct-taped shut, and Gabriel stormed off to punish himself in private. 

\-------------------------------------

Sam slammed the door behind him so loudly, the photographs on the walls clattered and shook. He breathed in, deep and shuddering, trying to calm his nerves. So far, it wasn’t working too well. He leaned back against the apartment door and tilted his head back until it made a soft _thunk_ against the wood. Eyes fixed on the ceiling, he slid down, landing in an awkward heap of long limbs on the floor. He’d imagined this moment so many times, but the way he’d seen it in his head... well, suffice to say that it wasn’t exactly what he’d been hoping for. Sam pulled the letter out of his pocket, crumpled and slightly damp with sweat. He tried to smooth the creases in the paper with a kind of frantic obsession. This was supposed to be perfect. It was supposed to be something that he kept with him forever.

The letter itself was, well, not unimpressive, but somehow very normal. It looked exactly like the ones Dean had gotten -- a long, duly crimson envelope. His name, his full name, printed in neat, government-dictated typography on the front, address sitting below it. On the right-hand side, the familiar seal of the cherubim was stamped into the paper. He flipped it over and weighed it in his hands. His anger at Gabriel was still there, raging under the surface of his skin, but it was pushed to the back of his mind. Well, better now than never.

Sam slipped his finger under the edge of the flap and was embarrassed to see that it was trembling. What would he find inside? Who? Some stranger that was supposed to be his destiny. In his mind it had been romantic, dramatic, fucking majestic. Now, with the paper heavy in his hands, it felt awfully presumptuous. He pushed the thought away and ripped open the envelope. 

He pulled the thick white paper out and his eyes took in the familiar words, words meant for him this time, and not for Dean. He’d memorized them already, but reading them now did feel strangely new and exciting. He could almost hear the cheery voice of one of the cherubim from the office reading the familiar words: _“Mr. Samuel E. Winchester, We are pleased to inform you that you have been granted a match by the Department of Cherubim under the Authority of the Heavenly Host...”_ He skipped down, past the weirdly-reverent legal-ese, to the name. He couldn’t wait any longer, he had to know. 

Sam’s eyes scanned over the name several times before he felt like he understood it. For a brief moment, he wondered if it was a joke. He wondered if Gabriel would do that to him. But no -- even Gabriel wasn’t that malicious. His mouth formed the words in quiet disbelief.

The first thing he noticed was that it was a guy. That, while unexpected, certainly wasn’t something he was bothered by. He’d always thought of himself as at least mostly straight, but hey, who was he to deny destiny? The second thing he noticed was that it was an angel. An archangel, to be precise, whose name was known to almost everyone in their world. The third thing was that it was Lucifer, and Sam knew without a doubt that his life was going to get even more complicated than it already was.

\-------------------------------------

“Now tell me, brother,” Michael began, “how long has this Samuel Winchester kept you waiting?” He enunciated each syllable of Sam’s name with apparent distaste, blue eyes glinting. Lucifer briefly glanced up from his Battleship board. 

“A few weeks,” Lucifer replied with a shrug.

“Perhaps there was an issue with the mail. This is Gabriel’s division we’re talking about.” Michael paused. “Or perhaps he died. Humans tend to do that.”

“I think I would have been informed.” Lucifer quirked an eyebrow at his fellow archangel. “Don’t you have your own home to loiter in?”

“Kicking me out now that you have a nice little boyfriend on the way? We haven’t even finished our game yet,” Michael snapped.

“Your company is always such a pleasure. I just wouldn’t want it all spent on me. Seems like a waste.” 

“Then I’ll leave you to your own devices!”

“Mikey, if I didn’t know better, I’d say you were jealous. Perhaps Samuel has a brother. We could have a double date. F-7.” Michael’s eyes glowed with righteous fury.

“You sunk... my BATTLESHIP!” Michael flipped over his board and sent pieces flying across the carpet. 

The sound of Michael slamming the front door drowned out Lucifer’s laughter -- almost.

\-------------------------------------

When Dean arrived home -- after another date with Castiel, no less, which Sam couldn’t even fathom at the moment -- his brother was still staring, dumbfounded, at the letter in his hands.

“Sam?” Dean asked carefully. “Hey buddy, what’s--holy shit! Is that for you?” Sam nodded silently and handed it over Dean, who snatched it up excitedly. When he finished reading over it, however, his eagerness had faded. “Holy shit,” he repeated. “This is... wow. And I thought my match was fucked up.” Sam surprised himself with a bark of laughter.

“I know, right?” the younger Winchester replied.

“So what are you gonna do?”

“Call him, I guess. We’re supposed to set up a meeting.” Sam took the letter back from Dean and turned it over in his hands thoughtfully.

“You’re actually gonna do this? I thought you and Gabriel--”

“No,” Sam snapped.

“Whoa, okay. Not to rain on your angelic love parade, but isn’t Lucifer a little... out of your league?” Dean looked genuinely concerned, not mocking. 

“The Heavenly Host seems to think otherwise.” The brothers sat in silence for a few moments before Sam sighed heavily and continued, “I’ll need a witness. You wanna come meet the Devil?”

“Oh, I am so fucking there.”

\-------------------------------------

“Why has Hester been moved back to the file room?”

Castiel suddenly appeared in Gabriel’s office and he nearly fell out of his chair. As an archangel, he could always sense when other angels were about to arrive. Usually there was this loud shift of air as their wings furled, but Castiel was part ninja or something.

“Hi to you too, bro. You haven’t seen my heart have you? I think it just jumped out of my chest.” Gabriel dramatically clutched at himself.

“Hester was in the file room for two centuries before I recommended her for promotion to letter carrier,” Castiel continued without acknowledging Gabriel’s dramatics. Killjoy. “Now I understand you came to fisticuffs with her and demoted her? Forgive me, but that sounds like an egregious abuse of power.”

“Whoa there, Seabiscuit, she was being obstinate and disobeyed a direct order.” Castiel gave him a withering look. Yeah, coming from Gabriel of all people, that was pretty weak.

“I suggest you move her to accounting, Rachel could use some assistance.”

Gabriel grumbled, but agreed. Being promoted to work under Castiel was worse than any punishment he could think of anyway. He knew he was being petty, but he needed to immaturely redirect his anger somewhere.

“You appear upset. Hester will not bother you if she works for me.”

“No, it’s not that. Sam got a letter.”

Castiel stared at him and tilted his head like he didn’t understand why that was bad news.

“I wasn’t the person matched to him, Lucifer was.”

“How unfortunate,” Castiel observed in his detached way. “Considering how the system has worked for me lately, I wouldn’t put too much stock into these things.” Gabriel rose an eyebrow. 

“Why Castiel, are you suggesting a system our Father set up is imperfect?” the angel huffed, almost amused. 

“I’ve always been surprised you didn’t manipulate it for your own amusement.”

“Well, I don’t like to mess with Daddy’s special projects and I’ve seen His wrath enough to know not to. Things really aren’t going well for you and old Deano?”

A very ugly aura surrounded Castiel and his whole body tensed as he spoke, “He sends me flowers and chocolates _every day_. My desk is a cluttered mess! Dean tries too hard and in turn tries my patience. The places he takes me are extravagant and he makes an entire production of every outing. It’s exhausting and I can’t wait until we’re called to make the final judgment on the match.” 

Gabriel chuckled to himself. Figured Castiel would go the old fashioned route of having to formally announce interest (or disinterest) in the match instead of just filing the form like everyone else. Castiel loved paperwork, so that really said something about him. Maybe Sam’s theory hadn’t been too far off. 

“You could try taking Dean out somewhere you know, if he’s being too much.” Castiel considered the idea. 

“I could take him to the cafeteria again.” 

“You already took him there!” Gabriel sputtered.

“I... could take him to a different section of the cafeteria?” He stared at Gabriel helplessly and it was like dealing with, well, Castiel. 

“No, no, no. Here’s what you do, you take him to something romantic.”

“I get a discount at the cafeteria. Saving money is romantic.” 

“Fucking accountants. No, take him to see the fireworks on town lake. It’s coming up in a few weeks. You’ll have time to plan and everything.” Castiel looked like he was about to protest, but Gabriel cut him off. “You take him to see the fucking fireworks on the fucking lake and stare into his eyes shining in the moonlight and stroke his hair. His long, beautiful hair.” Gabriel stared off wistfully into the middle distance. 

“Dean’s hair is very short,” Castiel commented dryly. “Wait, are we even talking about Dean?” Shit, figured this would be the one time he caught on.

“Just, just get out of here and get your man and show him how angels do it, okay?” Gabriel harshly ushered his idiot brother out of his office. Castiel looked very alarmed with his big cow eyes by Gabriel’s sudden hostility and walked away briskly. 

Gabriel plopped down heavily at his desk and buried his head in his hands. He was so screwed. 

\-------------------------------------

When Sam finally got up the nerve to call, they agreed to meet at Lucifer’s loft downtown -- loft, he had a loft, what was up with _that_? -- Sam halfway wanted to suggest a less private location, but was too dumbfounded to do much more than agree with the smooth, deep voice on the phone. He lost half an hour to trying to pick out an outfit that was suitable for meeting the Morning Star, but a few choice comments from Dean about his manhood made him curse and go with his usual jeans and a button-up. 

Sam couldn’t help thinking that Gabriel’s input would be really helpful right now. Surely he’d know his own brother’s preferences, be able to give some tips on how to deal with him, but that was too weird to contemplate for very long. Besides, he was still pissed off. Gabe hadn’t even called to apologize. He could almost hear the archangel laughing at him. That was how Sam found himself standing outside of an enormous stone and glass monolith downtown, arguing with Dean about whether or not he needed a jacket.

“Dude,” Dean snapped, “you’re being an idiot. No one cares about your jacket. If this guy is really your true love or whatever, he’s not gonna care, either.”

“But, I mean, this is sort of formal, right?”

“I didn’t dress up for my first meeting with Cas.”

“Oh, it’s _Cas_ now, is it?”

“Shut up, bitch.”

“Jerk.” Sam scowled and tossed his jacket back in the car. “Besides, you never dress up for anything.” Even as he said it, Sam knew it wasn’t quite true anymore. Dean dressed up for Castiel, or ‘Cas,’ and even now he was wearing another stupid vest. “Geez, why are you still wearing that? There’s no one here to impress. You’re making me feel underdressed and I know you hate wearing it.”

“It’s a casual vest,” Dean insisted. “The tag said so. And I don’t hate wearing it. I love it. I love vests. I’m a vest guy.”

“You are so full of--” A sharp ‘ahem’ made the two men quit squabbling and turn to look at a broad, beady-eyed man in a suit. Sam felt like he recognized him and Dean grimaced.

“Winchester,” the man said, nodding to Dean. Then, “Winchester,” and he nodded to Sam, as well.

“Zachariah,” Dean said in a clipped tone. 

“He is awaiting your arrival upstairs, Samuel. You and Dean may follow me.” Sam felt like he’d really rather not, but Zachariah turned on his heel and headed inside. Dean shot Sam a look of contempt before they followed. The lobby was sparkling -- of course -- but cold, and extraordinarily quiet.

“This way,” the angel prompted. “We do not have many opportunities to use the elevator. Human visitors are quite... rare.” Sam nodded. Zachariah looked like he wasn’t really pleased with the change of pace. Maybe he didn’t know how to be pleased. Dean was making a gagging gesture, so Sam elbowed him in the side. 

The elevator was glass -- because why would it be anything else, anything _normal_ \-- and they rode it to the top floor. Sam was gratified to see Dean looking pale and uncomfortable with the height. The doors didn’t open immediately, not until Zachariah punched in a complex code of symbols on the keypad. 

“Go straight ahead, through the double doors,” he instructed. “He’ll be expecting you. I will return shortly with the paperwork.” 

Sam entered the small foyer that faced the double doors and watched the elevator disappear mournfully, with Dean trailing along behind him.

“Hey Sam,” his brother snickered. 

“What?”

“I don’t think you’ll be going _straight_ ahead.” Sam punched him in the shoulder.

“You haven’t been going _straight_ for weeks,” he snapped. “Cas taken off the chastity belt yet?” Before Dean could reply, Sam made his way to the doors. They were clean and modern, made of some brushed metal, and cool to the touch. Sam wondered if all archangels lived someplace like this. His mind, unbidden, imagined Gabe opening the doors, but his mocking smirk didn’t fit. He shook his head -- he didn’t want to think about that ass, anyway.

“Don’t psych yourself out,” Dean muttered. Sam nodded pushed the doors open before he could think better of it. 

The first thing he noticed was the view. The loft was open and airy, leaving room to clearly showcase all of the large windows that served as outside walls, the city gleaming below. The second thing he noticed was that there were two imposing-looking men in the loft, and he’d never met or even seen a picture of Lucifer -- how was he supposed to know which one to talk to? Then again, one of the men, dark-haired and angry-looking, was glaring at Dean. The other, a sandy blonde with dispassionate blue eyes, was staring at _him_. Instinctively, he knew which one was Lucifer. 

The archangel wasn’t exactly what he expected, but then again, he hadn’t really expected anything. He was tall and solid-looking, with a calm, self-assured expression that slipped easily into a smile. It was only a turning of the lips, nothing like Gabriel’s wide, open grin, and Sam suddenly wondered how long he’d just been standing there, staring. Again, Sam wondered if angels could read minds, as Lucifer strolled up to meet him and held out a hand.

“Samuel,” he greeted, tone warmer than over the phone. “It is so good to meet you. Thank you for coming.” Sam nodded and took the outstretched hand. 

“It’s Sam,” he corrected. “Everyone just calls me Sam.” He tried not to flinch. Lucifer’s hand was like ice and the chill traveled up his arm to settle somewhere in his chest. “This is my brother, Dean.” He gestured towards Dean, hand still tingling. “He’s my, uh, witness.”

“Nice to meet you,” Dean mumbled, stepping forward to shake Lucifer’s hand as quickly as possible. Sam noticed the dark-haired man watching the exchange like a hawk. 

“And you as well,” Lucifer replied. “This is my brother, Michael. Forgive him if he doesn’t get up. He’s never been very personable.” Michael shot a scowl at Lucifer that was way too familiar. 

“Wow, now all I need to do is meet Raphael to complete my archangel bingo card,” Sam joked awkwardly.

“That can be arranged,” Lucifer replied.

“No!” the Winchesters replied in unison.

“I mean,” Sam began, “no, that’s okay. That’s really not necessary.”

“As you wish.” Lucifer looked amused at their reaction, while Michael had his ice blue eyes glued to Dean. It was clearly unsettling him. At least Castiel’s glare didn’t seem so… intense. The archangel was completely tight-lipped the whole time and just trailed after every single one of Dean’s movements. Lucifer just seemed very amused by the whole thing.

“Michael, where are our manners?”

He continued to stare at Dean with laser-like focus.

“Um, so we should do the ceremony?” Sam suggested.

“I agree. Zachariah, if you will,” Lucifer prompted. The smarmy-looking bald man appeared out of nowhere with a rush of wings, said a few words, and made them sign on the dotted line. He took the paperwork with a look of irritating satisfaction before leaving them alone again.

When it was done, Lucifer approached Sam with the cool saunter of an alley cat. Dean was slowly gravitating towards the wall, in hopes of putting himself out of Michael’s sights. The archangel simply followed a few feet away and stayed silent. Lucifer completely ignored his brother’s stalker behavior.

“If you’re free tonight, Sam, I have reserved _La Bleue Lune_ for us at seven tonight.”

“Oh, that’s fine. I’ve always heard good things about their salads.”

Lucifer didn’t comment, just hummed and watched Sam with vague amusement. The human smiled awkwardly in return and made an excuse to leave before Michael did whatever he was planning to do to Dean.

\-------------------------------------

When Dean opened the door to their apartment he let out a string of obscenities that would curl the hair on a sailor. Sam was alarmed at his brother’s late onset of Tourettes when he looked into the foyer and saw Castiel. Standing there. In the dark. His pale eyes were ghostly in the sliver of light that seeped through the closed blinds of the living room. Sam distantly thought the angel would make a great monster in a horror film. 

“Not cool, Cas! You trying to send me to an early grave? There are easier ways to get rid of me if you’re so determined,” Dean petulantly hissed as he turned on the lights and shoved past the stolid angel. 

Sam gave Castiel a somewhat more friendly greeting, but instead of saying something like ‘hi nice to see you, too,’ he brusquely asked about their meeting with Lucifer and Michael. Castiel emphasized Michael’s name with particular and curious distaste. Sam didn’t even bother asking how Castiel knew about their meeting, it was probably all over the angel grapevine. The angel’s question was enough to have Dean bust out in a rant.

“That Michael is a goddamn freak,” he roared. “He kept looking at me like he wanted to go full _Silence of the Lambs_ and make a Dean suit for him to wear.”

“Did he touch you?” Castiel growled, surprising the brothers. He grabbed Dean by the shoulders and jerked him around like he was looking for wounds.

“Stop freaking out, he didn’t do anything besides weird me out,” Dean protested, but Sam noticed he wasn’t exactly halting Castiel’s inspection.

“Are you certain?” Castiel’s expression was dark. “Did he make any physical contact?”

“No,” Dean huffed, finally getting irritated at being manhandled by the angel and he stepped out of his grip, “it was like I had a barrier. He just molested me with his eyes.”

Castiel watched him with divine intensity, like he was trying to outdo Michael’s stare of doom. For all his stiff awkwardness, Castiel couldn’t quite capture the same threatening coldness as the archangel.

“Why do you even care,” Dean spat bitterly.

Castiel suddenly found the floor interesting as he spoke, “It would be irresponsible to allow harm to come to my match.”

“Oh that’s all, huh? Don’t damage the merchandise so you can return it!”

Sam really didn’t need to be here for this. They were both so obvious, he was going to scream. He had a date with fucking _Lucifer_ to get ready for, anyway. He left the two of them arguing pointlessly in the kitchen and headed to his room. 

\-------------------------------------

Sam still felt underdressed, and it had nothing to do with his clothes. It was just that he was himself, and he was going on a date with Satan, and they were -- of course -- visiting one of the most expensive restaurants in town. Which really brought up a lot of questions about how much archangels were paid. Lucifer himself wore a simple t-shirt and jeans and looked completely at ease. He had a jacket draped over one shoulder, but it seemed like an afterthought. Sam wondered if it was Michael’s idea. 

The maitre d’ led them through the dark, candle-lit main room to a patio that overlooked the city. Sam was sensing a trend. The space was full of twinkling lights and well-tended vines and flowers. It was, in a word, incredibly romantic. He sweated profusely while Lucifer browsed an extensive wine list.

“Where is everyone?” Sam blurted out. 

“I wanted privacy.”

“You wanted privacy.” Sam gaped. “So you... rented out an entire restaurant?”

“Yes, essentially. Though I rented the staff, as well.”

“But _why_?” Sam belatedly wondered if he was being rude.

“I don’t care for humans,” Lucifer replied.

“I’m a human,” Sam pointed out.

“You seem all right. I find you intriguing.”

“Oh. Uh, good then. Thank you?”

“You’re quite welcome.”

Thankfully, the waiter showed up and Sam got the opportunity to stuff his face full of fancy breadsticks. He wasn’t sure how comfortable he was being ‘intriguing’ to an archangel who didn’t care for humans. Lucifer ordered a bottle of wine that sounded Italian and with the help of that, Sam might be able to make it through the night.

Sam wondered how long it had been since Lucifer dated anyone. He’d certainly never heard of it happening. However long it had been, he was pretty good at it, on paper. The archangel seemed to sense Sam’s discomfort with venues completely devoid of human life, so he started to tolerate people more, if only for Sam’s benefit. He had an endless list of places he wanted them to go, but sometimes it felt like he’d studied a book on romance and was going down some kind of checklist. 

Sam was fascinated by angelic life, especially arch-angelic life, but Lucifer seemed unwilling to talk about himself. Instead, he prodded for every detail of Sam’s day-to-day world, hanging on his words like he was making notes in his mind. Petty work squabbles and lunch plans enthralled him. It was both flattering and unsettling. Only when Sam agreed to be angel mojo’d to some fancy garden in Copenhagen did Lucifer talk for any length of time about himself, and only then it was to wax poetic about the cultivation of roses for a solid hour.

Perhaps out of sheer habit, Sam became slowly more comfortable around the archangel, but something remained very alien about him, something Sam wasn’t sure he could reconcile. Beyond that, there was something else, something he couldn’t place, that left him with a feeling of incompleteness, like something unfinished. He had an inkling of what it might be, but maybe if he ignored it, the feeling would go away. So far, he was sticking to that plan.

\-------------------------------------

Gabriel knew, of course. He knew exactly what was going on with Sam and Lucifer -- with his brother and his, well, his nothing. He knew about all the fancy outings and the dinners and the impromptu trip to fucking _Denmark_. Honestly, could Luci try any harder? It was sad, really. 

He made a point of knowing. It was like an addiction. Samandriel seemed concerned all the time, but what else was new. Cas too, in his own way. They meant well, he knew, but nothing helped. He was grudgingly starting to admit that this feeling he had for Sam might be farther from simple lust and closer to another emotion that started with L and ended with none of your damn business, I don’t need to talk about my _feelings_.

That was a big part of it, too. He had no one to talk to. He couldn’t burden poor Alfie with the bitter sting of reality, Cas was way too close to the situation, Michael was... Michael, and Lucifer was out of the question. He’d even briefly considered going to Raphael, but then decided that he’d rather stab himself in the eye with a butter knife. 

There was a virtual radio silence between him and Sam, and there was nothing to do about it but wait. He’d considered trying to apologize, but he wasn’t sure even that communication was welcome. Either Sam would deem him worthy of friendship -- maybe once he and Luci rode off on a fucking white horse into the sunset -- or he’d die alone. Whichever came first.

\-------------------------------------

Dean marched into Sam’s bedroom without knocking, waving a piece of paper. He wore one of his now many casual vests. It had gray pinstripes.

“I can finally be fucking free, Sammy! The cupids are calling Cas and me to make a decision about the match this afternoon.”

“What are you going to say?” Sam asked with mild interest. 

Dean scoffed, “You got a screw loose? I’m gonna say no! This has been the most miserable two months of my life, every other night I have to look at that scowling face and put up with him droning on and on about the most boring crap. If you had any idea of the torture I’ve been through, Sam.” 

Sam rolled his eyes, he was well aware of the “torture” Dean endured. He only talked about Castiel and how “awful” he was all the time. Honestly, he couldn’t remember what he and his brother used to talk about before he started dating Castiel.

“He’s going to say no. I’m sure of it,” Dean was suddenly grumpy, “bet he’ll just relish saying it, too. Rub it in my face, like ‘thank my dad I don’t have to waste my time with this moron anymore,’ and smack me in the face with his wing when he flies off out of my life forever.” 

“Dean, I’m sure he--,”

“You wanna come and be my witness again?” Dean plastered on a very forced smile. “Maybe your boyfriend will be there.” 

It took Sam a second to realize he meant Lucifer. He had briefly considered that Gabriel might be there. Castiel didn’t really seem to have a lot of friends. It might be a good time to catch him and apologize. He agreed and reminded Dean to wear one of his fancier vests for the occasion. Dean cuffed Sam on the back of the head. 

\-------------------------------------

The room Sam and Dean were lead to was slightly different from the one before. There was a redheaded angel there who looked a little sunburnt. She was introduced as Anna and sat at a desk in the back. She had huge stacks of paperwork everywhere. Castiel was already there when they arrived, looking just as constipated as usual. However, instead of Gabriel, the angel who had delivered Sam’s letter was there. Her smile was unsettling and Sam watched her warily. 

“Hester, humans don’t like it when you do that,” Anna said like she was scolding a child. Hester ignored her and kept grinning maniacally at Sam. 

The air between Dean and Castiel was as frigid as the first time they’d been in this situation. Dean’s glare at Castiel started out harsh, but slowly softened into something like disappointment the longer he looked. Castiel might as well have been a marble statue. 

Sam expected another formal dialogue with archaic vocabulary, but Anna barely looked from the form in front of her as she spoke.

“So, yes or no, you two going to stay matched?” 

They both frowned and said at the same time, _“Yes.”_

“Yes?” Dean echoed incredulously at Castiel, the angel couldn’t meet his eyes. Anna slid the paper across her desk and asked them to sign it. Dean signed it without taking his wonder-struck gaze off the angel who conscientiously avoided meeting it. 

Anna stamped the form, pulled open a desk drawer, and flung some confetti in the air.

“Mazel tov! Now get out of here, I’m swamped.” 

As Castiel turned to go, Dean grabbed him by the arm and forced him to look in his eyes.

“Did you mean it?” 

“Of course,” Castiel looked confused. “I wouldn’t have said it if I didn’t. I assumed you wouldn’t agree, however.” 

“Yeah, well.” Dean dropped Castiel’s arm like it was on fire and rubbed at his hair to shake some confetti loose. “You’re pretty cool for a dorky angel dude.” 

“You’re not so bad for a stubborn human who tries too hard and has a startling amount of vests.” 

Sam figured that was as close to ‘I love you and I want to have your babies’ as they were going to get for now. Castiel then awkwardly invited Dean to go see fireworks at the lake and Dean’s eyes lit up with freaking fireworks of their own. He first suggested that he and Castiel discuss some ‘very important business’ in the next empty office and Castiel eagerly agreed. They went into the office right next to Anna’s without so much as a goodbye to Sam, but he really couldn’t care. He was glad it had actually worked out for the two knuckleheads. Maybe it could work for him and Lucifer, too. 

He turned to walk out and almost collided with Hester. He didn’t shriek like a little girl, it was more of a masculine yelp. 

Sam stared, unsure, at Hester while Dean and Castiel presumingly made out like horny teenagers in the next room. He was happy for them, he really was, but the mental image made him feel queasy and strangely nervous. Hester hadn’t said much throughout the ordeal, but she turned to him now.

“Has your match been as successful as your brother’s?”

“I--what?” Sam felt slightly panicked. “Well, not as successful as _that_.” He nodded towards the sounds the happy couple were making in the other room.

“But it is going well? You are compatible?” Sam pondered the question.

“Yeah,” he finally answered unsteadily. “We’re compatible. That’s a good word for it.”

“Excellent,” Hester replied smartly. “That was my first assignment, you know. I would have received very good marks if Gabriel hadn’t interfered.” 

“Oh. Sorry, I guess.”

“The whims of an archangel can be unpredictable, but I suppose you know that well enough. He seemed to have some personal stake in the matter.”

“Yeah, right,” Sam mumbled. “Listen, I gotta--”

“One day that will be you, Sam,” she sighed with surprising romanticism. “Confirming your match. Please let me know when it happens. I would like to make a note in my personnel file.”

“I’ll do that. Thanks, Hester.” Sam made an excuse and exited as quickly as possible, full of fears about a lifetime with the Prince of Darkness.

\-------------------------------------

Gabriel peered out of the darkened corner, quietly humming the _Mission Impossible_ theme to himself. He watched, concealed like a stealthy panther in the darkest jungles of South America, as Hester said her farewells to Sam and marched down the hallway with her chin held high. He suddenly reached out as she passed and dragged her into the shadows as she sputtered.

“What did he say?” Gabriel demanded. Hester gave him a very piercing and haughty look.

“Castiel informed me that I should not speak with you, or take your bizarre actions to heart,” Hester replied airily. Gabe groaned.

“Look, Hester, I’m sorry I yelled at you, okay?” Hester was unimpressed. “Fine! And... and you’re right. It was your job to deliver that letter. I shouldn’t have tried to stop you.”

“It should have gone on _my_ record! It would have looked very impressive on my resume!”

“Oh, for Dad’s sake... That’s what you’re worried about? I’ll change your damn record. You were the one that delivered it. I just showed up and made a mess. Will you tell me what he said now?” Hester looked both shocked and pleased with the promise, or as close to pleased as she ever got. 

“He indicated that the match was successful.”

“Oh.” Gabriel’s voice cracked a bit. “Did he?”

“Yes, we even discussed the possibility of a confirmation.” Hester seemed quite proud of herself and Gabriel somehow held back the desire to turn her into a mongoose.

“Good. Great. Fantastic.”

\-------------------------------------

Sam had to bribe one of his co-workers with promises to help digitize several thousand old files to get Gabriel’s address. Apparently it wasn’t common knowledge. It seemed that not all archangels lived in fancy modern lofts, and he didn’t want to know why Inias had that particular bit of information. He considered simply calling, but after so long without speaking, it didn’t seem right.

Standing in front of Gabriel’s home, he started second-guessing that decision a little bit. Sam squared his shoulders and purposefully strode up the steps to the door, which was a bright orangey-yellow for some reason. It was warm and cheerful, it made him less worried that Inias had given him the wrong directions. Before he could talk himself out of it, he rapped smartly on the door. 

There was no sound to indicate Gabriel’s movements, so Sam jumped when the door opened. Gabe looked legitimately surprised, standing in the doorway in a white t-shirt and bright red shorts. Sam stubbornly ignored the fact that he was blushing.

“Sam?” Gabriel said in confusion. Sam managed a lackluster smile. 

“Nice jammies,” he joked. 

Gabe looked down at himself, as though just realizing what he was wearing. Instead of a laugh, he returned Sam’s smile and mumbled, “Thanks.” He glanced back up at Sam. “What are you doing here?”

“I wanted to apologize.” Gabriel seemed shocked at that. 

“ _You_ want to apologize? Sam, I’m the one who should be apologizing to you. I was a dick.”

“I think maybe we were both dicks.” Sam looked sheepish, but he noted a familiar glimmer of humor in Gabe’s eyes.

“I’ll second that.”

“So... maybe we should both apologize?” Sam suggested. Gabriel nodded.

“I should have given you that letter sooner. There’s no excuse. I was only thinking of myself. I’m sorry for betraying your trust and I’m sorry if I hurt you.”

“You’re right, you shouldn’t have kept it from me. But I... I understand why. I’m sorry for blowing up at you.”

“Yeah, Hester is never going to let me live that down.”

“I can see that about her.”

“Speaking of Hester,” Gabriel was fishing, he knew, but he didn’t care. “She said it was going well with you and, uh, my brother?” Sam didn’t know what to say, so he just managed a shrug and a nod. “He is my brother, you know,” Gabe continued. “My _real brother_. Him and Mike and Raphael.” 

“Yeah, I got that,” Sam replied with a snigger.

“And I do care about him, believe it or not. He’s been alone for a long time. Just him and Michael. No one should spend that much time with Michael.” Sam laughed at that. “What I’m saying is, I’m not gonna say I’m happy for you exactly, maybe I will be, but I am glad that he’s happy, and I... I want you to be happy. Shit, this sounds terrible. Am I making any sense?”

“Yeah, you’re making plenty of sense,” Sam said. “Thanks.”

“You, uh, wanna come inside? I’ve got coffee. I never drink it, but you can, I guess.” Gabriel looked hopeful and Sam considered it. From what he could see of the inside, the home looked warm and inviting. It smelled a little like cotton candy for some reason. 

“I appreciate it,” he replied carefully, “but I think I’d better not.”

“Right. Okay.”

“So... we’re good?” Sam sounded expectant despite himself, and Gabriel’s answering smile made it worth it.

“Yeah, Sam, we’re good. We’ll always be good.”

“Good. Great. Um, good night, I guess.” Sam shuffled anxiously.

“Good night. And Sam?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m glad you got what you wanted.” 

The door closed softly and something caught in Sam’s throat, which didn’t make any damn sense. He should feel better, not worse. Instead, it hit him like a brick to the face that he’d said no because he _did_ want to come inside. And it wasn’t for coffee.

“Shit,” he hissed under his breath, shoving his hands in his pockets and walking back down the pathway. This was a problem, a definite problem, and he had to fix it.

When Sam got back to the apartment, his head was a mess. He dug the red letter out of his desk from where he’d stashed it and read over the words again. This was what he wanted, right? And Lucifer, he was strange, but not bad -- he’d been nothing but attentive. By all rights, Sam should be over the moon. Instead, he wanted to crawl under his bed and pretend he’d never gotten the letter in the first place.

There was so much pressure now, because it should be perfect, but somehow it wasn’t. Under any other circumstances, it would have been perfect. Instead, he couldn’t help wishing, hoping, that the stupid letter had said something else. Someone else. 

“Shit,” he repeated. There was really only one thing to do, it wasn’t fair to Lucifer otherwise. Sam blew out a sigh. He just prayed that by this time tomorrow, he was something other than a smoldering pile of ash.

\-------------------------------------

The building was familiar enough to Sam by now that his feet automatically took him through the lobby and up the ridiculous glass elevator to Lucifer’s loft. He tugged on his shirt nervously. Lucifer must have done something to the weird little keypad because it let him in automatically, without the need for a pass code of any kind. The thought made him feel slightly guilty. He raised his hand to knock on the cold metal doors, but they opened on their own, and the archangel himself stood in the doorway, eyeing Sam like he could _sense_ him. Maybe he could. That was not necessarily a comforting thought.

“Sam,” he greeted, “what a pleasant surprise. Please, come in.” Sam nodded dumbly and followed him inside, absently picking at his nails. It was a bad habit. Lucifer lounged against the kitchen counter, looking completely comfortable in a well-worn olive shirt. Sam wondered if he wore suits. He guessed that he didn’t really need to. He was terrifying enough in jeans and a t-shirt.

“To what do I owe the pleasure?” Lucifer continued, with just a hint of darkness. Sam flushed, because, yeah, maybe calling on his sort-of boyfriend up so late at night was a little misleading.

“I, um, wanted to talk to you about something,” he finally choked out. Was this his last night on Earth? He was willing to bet good money that an archangel didn’t even need to worry about hiding bodies, and he hadn’t exactly told anyone what he was planning. Lucifer’s eyebrows raised slightly.

“Then by all means, talk.” The formidable angel made a sweeping motion with his hand, eyes glued on Sam’s face. Well, it was now or never.

“Look, Lucifer,” Sam began, completely at a loss as to how to make this graceful. He wondered absently if archangels still smote people, or turned them into pillars of salt, or things like that. What happened when you broke up with an archangel anyway? They didn’t really cover it in Cosmo. Not that he read Cosmo. Lucifer seemed indifferent to the amount of time Sam was taking to speak. He just tilted his head to the side in a way that sort of reminded him of Cas, like an alien examining a new species and finding it to be slightly cute.

“I... I don’t really know what to say here,” he admitted. “I’ve had a very...” Sam struggled to find the words. “It’s been very interesting to spend time with you. I don’t think it’s something I’ll ever forget.” The expression on Lucifer’s face was smoothing from cocky and amused to something a little more sober. “I had an incredible time with you. And, I mean, I guess you know this, but you’re pretty amazing.” 

“I have the strong suspicion that there is a ‘but’ somewhere in this little speech, Sam,” Lucifer said cooly. Sam scrubbed his palm against his face and looked down.

“There is,” he said quietly. The archangel waited, in his weird, endless patience, for Sam to clarify. “I mean it, all of it. But I don’t think that we should be together.” Sam prepared himself for anger, frustration, disbelief. Anything from the man sitting across from him. Hell, he half-expected him to laugh and say something like, ‘Nobody breaks up with Satan!’ and then barbeque him on the spot. Instead, Lucifer uncrossed his legs and steepled his fingers under his chin, considering Sam carefully.

“Sam, I am not going to force you into something you don’t want. That’s not what this is, and if I gave you the impression that it was anything less than your explicit choice, I apologize.” 

Sam let out a breath he hadn’t remembered he was holding. “No, no, you never... You never made me feel like that. I just want to be honest with you.” Lucifer’s lips quirked into a dark little smile.

“Well, then I will be honest with you and say I believe you are making a mistake.” He sighed. “But it is your mistake to make.” Lucifer leaned back and ran his fingers through his hair, like he didn’t really know what disappointment was supposed to look like. “You can at least tell me why,” he muttered. “I know it’s not because you don’t find me attractive.” 

“Okay, yeah, fine,” Sam replied, blushing a little bit. He was slowly, very slowly, beginning to feel more confident in his decision. He didn’t think he could handle an eternity with the freaking Morning Star reading him like a book. It was too uncomfortable. “I... I’m in love with someone else.”

For once, Lucifer looked genuinely surprised. His pale eyes widened and his lips made an almost cartoonish ‘oh’ shape. Sam couldn’t help but laugh a little bit, albeit nervously.

“I did not realize you were seeing someone else.”

“I’m-I’m not, at least, not like that. We’re friends.”

“And this person feels the same?” 

_He’d better_ , Sam thought, _or I’m going to punch him in the face_. But out loud, he said, “I hope so.” 

“I’ll have you know that I’m a lot to give up for a hope,” Lucifer said with a smirk, but there was no malice in his voice. “It’s not likely that you’ll have another archangel throwing himself at your feet.”

Sam laughed awkwardly, too long and too loudly. “Oh, um, yeah. Right.” But it was too late. Lucifer caught it. He tilted his head to the side again and narrowed his eyes at Sam, studying him with an unpleasantly mischievous grin. 

“It is a member of the garrison, this person,” he said, with absolutely certainty. Sam’s shoulders drooped. There was no point in lying. He just hoped that it would start some kind of family feud. Though the idea of two archangels fighting over him at Sunday dinner was a little too conceited for him to really consider.

“Yes,” Sam finally muttered. Lucifer rose an eyebrow, waiting for him to continue. With an exasperated sigh, he continued, “It’s your brother.” If possible, Lucifer looked even more shocked than before.

“ _Raphael?_ ” he asked incredulously.

“What? No! Your other brother!”

“Michael?”

“No, no, not Michael.”

“Sam, you’re going to have to be more specific. I have over 1,200 brothers of various ranks.”

“It’s Gabriel, okay?” Sam snapped in frustration. The archangel’s eyebrow raised and he looked somewhat dubious. Then, Lucifer squinted, and frowned, and shook his head dramatically.

“What?” Sam demanded. He felt oddly defensive.

“I just don’t understand how I didn’t see it before. I am usually more observant.”

Sam blinked. “What do you mean?”

“I mean that whether you like it or not, we undoubtedly share a connection. I should have seen it before, your interest in him. It’s clear enough, now. It was foolish of me.” He smirked, and it actually looked a little sad. “Perhaps you make me foolish.”

“I... I’ll take that as a compliment.” Sam felt a pang of guilt.

“You should.” 

Sam twiddled his thumbs nervously, unsure of what to do with himself. He was pretty sure that Lucifer could sit and stare at him like he was some kind of fascinating zoo creature for several decades without a second thought, but Sam was only human. He felt antsy and uncomfortable. 

“I’m sorry,” he repeated, lamely.

“No need to be sorry. You can’t help what you feel.” Lucifer finally stood and opened the door for him. Sam tried not to appear too desperate to get out, but he didn’t think that the other man bought it. “I will inform the cherubim of the decision,” he continued.

“Thank you.”

“And Sam?”

“Hm?” Sam turned to look at him once more, leaning against the doorway, arms folded, looking for all the world like a wild animal shoved inside of a human shell.

“If Gabriel does not return your affections, I will see to it that he regrets that decision.”

“Are you seriously offering to beat up your brother if he doesn’t want to go out with me?” 

Lucifer just shrugged and smirked, then shut the door in his face. Sam rolled his eyes. Archangels. How the hell did he ever get involved in this?

It hit Sam afterwards that he’d used the word love, and he wondered if maybe it wasn’t the right thing to say. Or hell, maybe it was. It also hit him that he damn well may have blown it with Gabriel, anyway. He thought about that one for a moment. Even if Gabe rejected him, Sam didn’t think he could just go off and make with the happily ever after with Lucifer without being completely honest.

So, there he was, rejecting the very thing he’d always dreamt of having, on the off-chance that an oversexed archangel with a sugar addiction would date him. Yeah, maybe love was the right word, after all.

\-------------------------------------

There was a time when Lucifer and Gabriel were basically attached at the butt. Many eons ago when the Earth was young, blah, blah, blah. Needless to say after all the infamous family drama, they mostly lost touch. There were the occasional Christmas cards and drunken holiday dinners, but it was still strange for Gabriel to see his older brother.

So, the fact that he was currently loitering in Gabriel’s office was a big surprise. He was staring at all the stupid movie posters Gabriel had hung in there like they were paintings at the Louvre. Only the Prince of Darkness could make such an innocuous activity seem menacing. 

“Uh, hey. Lucifer.” His older brother beamed like the brilliant morning star he was. 

“Gabriel! How nice of you to come.” Gabriel was a little annoyed that Lucifer was acting like it was his office, but they’d fought enough over the years so Gabriel let it go. “I thought I would hand deliver my cherubim matching paperwork to you.”

Gabriel’s heart fell through the floor. It was finally happening. He was going to lose Sam forever.

“Actually, Anna’s in charge of receiving confirmations,” he choked out. He fought to keep his face blank, but suspected that he was failing miserably.

Lucifer cocked an eyebrow and said coolly, “Well, when I have one, I’ll give it to her.”

“Oh.” Gabriel took a second to process that. Being faced with Lucifer always threw him a little off his game. “Uh, oh. What? Are you rejecting Sam? He wasn’t good enough for you, is that it?” A surge of red hot anger shot through him. “Is it because he’s human? I’ll have you know anybody who even got to touch a hair on that man’s head is fucking blessed okay. He’s one of the most intelligent, warmest, stupidly hopeful, yet totally serious people I’ve met and if you think I’m going to let you--”

“Well,” Lucifer cut him off with an amused smile, “actually, I’m quite fond of Sam. I suppose it was me who was the problem. I must not have been what he was looking for.”

“W-what?”

Lucifer studied his fingernails with disinterest as he spoke, “Yes, he seemed to indicate that he had feelings for someone else. I couldn’t say who of course.”

Gabriel stared at his brother slack-jawed. It couldn’t be. It wasn’t possible. Lucifer was cruel, but there was no way he could know how he felt about Sam, unless…

“I have to go,” Gabriel announced.

“Hm. I thought so.”

Gabriel spun around to run out his office and almost collided with Samandriel.

“Good afternoon, Sir! Can I get you anything?” He positively chirped. Knowing he was going to get shit for it later, but not really caring about his growing record of physical assault against his employees, Gabriel shoved Samandriel aside.

“You can get out of my damn way, Alfie.” He heard the smaller angel collide into something soft with an ‘oof’ noise. Gabriel then realized he could fucking _fly_ and winged it out of there.

“Thank you so much for catching me, sir!” Samandriel sing-songed into the chest of his mysterious savior.

“Not a problem, little one,” said a sweet, vaguely intimidating voice. Samandriel looked up with shock at the face of Lucifer.

“Oh my!”

\-------------------------------------

Gabe was running. He didn’t run, like, _ever_. It wasn’t a thing he did. That’s what wings were for. But he’d seen enough rom coms to know that if you were going to confess your feelings for someone, there had to be running involved. Preferably at a wedding or in an airport, but Sam’s office would have to do. So he flew himself to the nearest long, dramatic hallway and hoofed it the rest of the way towards Sam.

“Sam!” he gasped.

“Gabriel?” Sam squinted at him incredulously. “What’s going on? Why are you _running_?”

“Well,” Gabe panted, “I considered the airport thing--”

“Huh?”

“Never mind.” Gabe gulped in a breath of air. “Mikey might get pissed if I ruined the work day like that, though.” He braced his hands on his knees, wheezing. “How do you humans do this?”

“Practice?” Sam answered.

“That makes sense.” Gabriel waved a hand when Sam moved to help him. “No, you sit down, shut up, and pay attention, because I’m only going to say this once. Twice, if you’re lucky.” Sam frowned at him in confusion, but complied. “First of all,” he began, but was suddenly unaware of what he was going to say. He hadn’t exactly planned out what he was going to say. 

“First of all, you... you are way too fucking tall. I mean, who is that tall? No one, that’s who! Second, you hair is just... I don’t even know what to say about your hair, that’s how much it disgusts me!” The corners of Sam’s mouth twitched with the urge to laugh, but he said nothing.

“Third, you are a huge -- I mean, enormous, gargantuan -- idiot if you think that I don’t care about you.” Gabe gritted his teeth. “Yeah, sure, of course at first I just wanted to jump your freakishly large bones, and I’m still so onboard with that if it’s still on the table, or the couch, or the fucking desk for all I care, but the point is that I have to tell you this thing, this stupid thing that is ruining my life!

And that thing is that I’m -- and everyone thinks I’ve lost it, did you know that? Gone mad with power. Getting in fist fights with employees. I’m in love with you, okay? And I don’t know when _that_ fucking happened, I don’t even--”

His attempt at tangible words was cut off when Sam’s lips closed over his own, stupidly huge hands cupping his face with warmth and care. Sam’s mouth was soft and just the tiniest bit desperate. Gabriel made a little whine of disappointment when he pulled away.

“I love you too, you ass,” Sam chuckled, resting his forehead against the angel’s. Gabe laughed brokenly.

“Oh, thank Dad. I’m so fucking glad you just said that.” He grabbed the collar of Sam’s shirt and peppered needy kisses across his lips. 

“That’s why I couldn’t deal with the Lucifer thing, you know,” Sam mumbled, face flushed.

“I know you’re not always the brightest crayon in the box, but it’s generally bad form to talk about exes.” Gabriel smirked. “But go on, tell me how I’m better than my brother.”

“I just... it took me a while to get it, but I just kept wishing it was you.”

“Oh, fuck you,” Gabe snapped, voice hitching in his throat. He was not going to cry, damn it.

“Maybe later,” Sam murmured, sliding his hands down Gabriel’s shoulders. 

“I’m holding you to that promise.”

“Good.” Finally, _finally_ , the unease in his chest started to settle, calmed and quieted by Gabriel’s presence. 

\-------------------------------------

It was a damn struggle to wait until Sam was finished with work. As soon as he clocked out, Gabriel flew them faster than a bullet to the human’s place. The smaller man shoved Sam against his apartment door, eyes gleaming with intent. Thankfully the two nauseating lovebird where out romping in a daisy field or some shit so he and Sam could get down to business. 

“Now, where were we?” Gabriel quipped. As Sam leaned down to meet him, three sharp knocks sounded against the door. “Are you serious?” he groaned.

“They can’t be back already!”

“I’ll kill Cassie, I really will.”

“Don’t,” Sam warned, extricating himself from the archangel’s grasp. He turned to open the door with a long-suffering sigh and was surprised to see Samandriel there to greet him, beaming with good spirits.

“Sam!” he chimed. “So good to see you again!” He held out a familiar red envelope to Sam, who took it with an expression of befuddlement. 

“Samandriel, I really don’t--” he began.

“Alfie?” Gabriel growled, jerking the door the rest of the way open and scowling at the other angel. “This is _really_ not a good time.”

“Sir! What a happy coincidence!” Samandriel pulled another letter out of his bag and tucked it carefully in Gabe’s clenched fist. “I was afraid I would have to go looking for you. It’s so funny how these things turn out!” He gave a cheery smile, then puffed out of the hallway with a rustle of feathers. Sam and Gabriel looked at eachother, then down at the letters in their hands.

“You wanna open them?” Gabriel asked carefully. Sam studied the crisp paper in his grasp.

“Nah,” he replied, tossing the letter aside. Gabriel couldn’t stop grinning as he pulled Sam close.


End file.
